Like A Passing Breeze
by ermireallydontcare
Summary: Elizabeth awakes to find herself in a strange room, with a strange woman, and the very last man she ever wished to see again.
1. A Strange Room

**Chapter 1: A Strange Room**

Elizabeth Bennet's head felt heavy. It reminded her of the incident last year when she - and most of the neighbourhood - had accidentally imbibed too much liquor at the Meryton assembly because Charlotte Lucas's brothers, returned from school for the summer, had added extra brandy to the punch when their cook was distracted. An idea they had been given by their classmates, and in the manner of teenage boys everywhere, encouraged each other to carry out.

She wondered if they had done it again despite the usually jovial Sir William's anger when he had been informed of what had occurred. Elizabeth hoped not. She still blushed to think of her behaviour that night, and more so that of her two younger sisters; who had managed to be even louder and sillier than normal.

She tried to open her eyes but her mind protested against the onslaught of light and so she relaxed her face into the luxury of the pillows instead. What she wanted was to fall back asleep and let this horrendous feeling fade away like she had that last time. But her mind had chosen the worst moment to be actively awake; one of the few mornings she would have preferred it not to have been. The idea of raising for the day and partaking in her usual walk round the woods near Longbourn seemed daunting and so Elizabeth granted herself the right to laze and raise late like her younger sisters and mother for this morning alone. She promised herself she would take a longer walk the next day to make up for the loss of her freedom this particular morning, cursing the Lucas boys once more as she did so.

But since a return to the land of the sleeping currently continued to evade her, Elizabeth tried to recall what had occurred the previous night, but all she achieved was to make her headache worse. A heavy drum beat thrummed against the inside of her head, like those she had seen the militia march to when they did their exercises, but louder, and accompanied by the most horrific stabbing pains. She groaned to herself and curled further under the blankets, trying to block out as much light as possible. She had had no desire to ever experience this feeling again.

Irritated, she tried to remember if there had been an assembly last night. But no. There hadn't been an occasion in the neighbourhood since the Netherfield Ball and that had been months previously. Mr. Bingley had left and not returned since then. Jane's heart had been broken and their mother's dreams dashed. Elizabeth tried once more to remember what had happened the previous day to leave her so ill. But her mind refused to co-operative and she suddenly felt so very exhaustingly tired. The deep lull of sleep washed over her once more, and she was not going to argue against anything that would blot out the throbbing pain in her head.

When Elizabeth next awoke she could hear voices at her bedside. They were quiet, talking in hushed tones, and for the first time it occurred to Elizabeth that she could be ill in a manner completely unrelated to the Lucas boys and punch. Despite the protest of the drumming ache in her head she strained to hear what was being said and who was saying it. She dared not try and open her eyes again. Not yet. There was the deep tone of a man and the lilt of a young woman. Father and Jane! But no. The voices did not fit. But what other man would be allowed to be at Elizabeth's bedside? A doctor perhaps? She tried to focus on the voices once more. To catch the words being said and learn what ailed her.

"She should have awoken by now! The doctor said-"

"The doctor said there could be no accurate predictions with an accident such as Lizzy's. She will awaken soon, brother, we have to have faith in that. Our Lizzy is nothing if not a fighter." A pause. "She has never argued against accusations of stubbornness either." Elizabeth could hear the smile in the speaker's words as she uttered that last sentence. But still she didn't recognise these people who clearly knew her, and knew her well. This girl, who sounded like none of her sisters, or any of her friends, or even any of her passing acquaintances, and yet spoke as though she knew Elizabeth and her character. Even worse, she was correct in her statements. She did know Elizabeth, that the woman herself could not deny. But try as she might, Elizabeth did not know her.

Elizabeth tried to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Her mouth was dry and her questions died in her throat.

"You should sleep, brother," Elizabeth heard the woman insist. She didn't hear the reply. The pain in her head was building again, the drums beating louder, and curious as she was she had no choice but to succumb once more to the peace of sleep.

When next Elizabeth woke she knew it was night. Longbourn lay quiet in a manner it never quite managed during the day. The light no longer forced itself against her eyelids. The drumming had subsided, leaving only a dull pain. An irritation rather than an agony. After a few moments of luxuriating in this freedom from pain, Elizabeth readied herself and forced herself to sit up, eyes blinking themselves open. She steadied herself against the bed whilst waiting for the ensuing dizziness to recede. When it did she relaxed a moment then opened her eyes. A thrill of fear spread through her as she stared.

This was not her room. This was not Longbourn. Nor was it Gracechurch Street. Or Netherfield. Or any house Elizabeth had ever resided within. Elizabeth's heart beat wildly in her chest and the beating in her head returned to join it. She had to force herself to take several deep breathes to try and calm herself. Returning to sleep was no longer an option for curing her incessant headaches. Not now that she knew the room she resided in was not her own. She peered cautiously around her surroundings in the gloom of the night. But she could make out little. Her bed, or at least the bed she currently laid upon, was a large four-poster, with its hangings pulled back so that they gave no privacy. Moonlight peeped out from the gap between floor- length curtains to light upon various shapes of common household objects. A wardrobe. A dresser. Elizabeth stared in confused at one strange object, trying to decipherer what it was. She scrambled backwards on the bed when she realized. Her back jarred as she jammed herself against the headboard, causing the pain in her head to increase once more in tandem. Elizabeth winced against it. But she has bigger issues and she forced herself to focus. There was a stranger here. She was alone in a strange room with a strange person and with no idea how she had got there or how she could get away.

Another deep breath. She inched slowly towards the edge of the bed, focusing on this stranger, blankets pressed to her chest as though they could protect her. As if she could burrow herself under them and this would all go away.

She sighed out loud in relief when she realized her bedside occupant was a woman. She slept in the chair, still wearing her day dress, a few golden curls escaping her braid. Elizabeth felt herself relax just a fraction. Was this the woman she had heard speaking earlier then? It had to be, surely? But who was she?

Elizabeth took one last fortifying breath and prepared herself to speak into the darkness. "Hello?" It came out much quieter than she had intended. A mere mouse squeak in the still of night. It was so difficult to speak into the hushed night, to awake this peaceful looking stranger. But that would not do. No one would ever accuse Elizabeth Bennet of being a scared little mouse. "Excuse me!" A little louder. "I'm awake now." Elizabeth didn't know why she said that. But it seemed right. That was what the woman and the man - the woman's brother she recalled hazily - had been waiting for.

The woman stirred. Elizabeth watched as the daze of sleep was instantly replaced with the alertness of awareness.

"Lizzy!" the woman cried, and before Elizabeth was aware what had happened she had the young woman attached to herself, sobbing with relief into her shoulder as she hugged her tight. Elizabeth's arms stayed limp at her side. She knew she should hug the woman back but she felt no emotion towards her beside curiosity and the slightest hint of fear, the latter was already slipping away with the young woman's tears.

"Fitzwilliam!" The woman let go off as Elizabeth as suddenly as she had grabbed hold, disappearing across the room and out a door before Elizabeth had time to process any of it. She hadn't even had a chance to think to move from her kneeling position at the edge of the bed when the woman returned, holding a candle for light, followed by a man.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest the presence of a man in her private quarters (at least she assumed they were hers) as the woman placed the candle on her bedside table. The flickering light lit the faces of both her visitors and in her shock it was the man's name that tumbled from Elizabeth's lips. The very last man she ever expected - or wished - to see again.

"Mr. Darcy!"

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this opening chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts :) I'm planning to update on a weekly basis so will post the next chapter next Saturday. **


	2. A Concern

**Chapter 2 - A Concern**

In the year since Elizabeth Bennet had become Elizabeth Darcy her sister-in-law had grown from confidence to confidence, and whilst Georgiana Darcy would never dare to tease her brother in the manner of his wife, she would now be brave enough to side against him. At least if it was for his own good.

"Bed, Darcy!" Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered his cousin in his best army officer voice. Darcy sat at his wife's bedside, which he had barely left for the week she had been laid there. Georgiana had sent an express to her cousin out of concern for both her unconscious sister and her broken brother. Though she had tried to warn him, she knew he had still been taken back by the pitiful state of both Darcy and Elizabeth upon his arrival, and she could not blame him. Elizabeth with her head bandaged and her body and face scratched and bruised. But what was even more worrying then that for her loved ones was the way she - usually so lively - laid pale and still. And then there was Darcy beside her, he who was usually so in control, always the image of the perfect gentlemen, now so despondent and slovenly. His face unshaved and wearing yesterday's clothes that had been slept in.

Darcy's only response to the Colonel's order was to briefly turn his attention away from his wife's still form to glare at his cousin. But as Darcy's face was haggard and bloodshot from the week of stress and sleeplessness, his glare was nowhere near as intimidating as it would have been in usual circumstances. It only made him cut a more tragic figure.

"You need to have a good rest somewhere that is not that chair. Georgiana informs me you have not left this room since Lizzy's accident."

"And if I have not?" Darcy asked.

"You do Lizzy no good, brother, by letting your health go to waste." Georgiana's words were quieter spoken than the Colonel's, but no less forceful. For she was sure her cousin was in the right and that they must save her brother from destroying himself with misery.

"What your dear sister means, Darcy, is Lizzy is not going to want to awaken to a face like yours."

"No," Georgiana corrected hastily. "I merely meant that Lizzy would be upset with you to learn you were letting your health go to waste on her behalf. And upset with us for letting you."

"Come, Darcy, are you trying to get us into mischief with your wife when she awakens?" Georgiana's mouth half-formed into her first smile since the accident but faltered when her eyes fell once more on the tableau of her broken brother and his injured wife.

"I have no care for my own health!" Darcy insisted. "My only desire is to be here when my wife awakens from this accursed illness." He clutched Elizabeth's hand tighter in his hand, bringing it to his chest.

"Very noble, Cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. Darcy didn't even turn from his wife to glare this time, but Georgiana did, not sure if he mocked her brother's misery or not.

No, she thought, Edward would not mock at a time like this, and Fitzwilliam is being noble, even if I do not like what he is doing to himself in the process

"But nobility does neither you or dear Lizzy much good at this moment of time," Colonel Fitzwilliam continued.

"I'll have Mrs. Reynolds send a tray of food to your room. When was the last time you ate?" Georgiana added.

Darcy's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Are you both against me in this manner then?" Still he did not face them, his eyes remained glued to Elizabeth.

"No one is against you, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana told him, reaching out to touch his shoulder in comfort. "The very opposite in fact."

Darcy sighed. The small sound revealed how truly exhausted he was. "I know you speak for love of me, Georgiana, and I never intended to imply otherwise." Here he glanced up to grace his sister with a small tired smile. "But I cannot leave Elizabeth."

"I will stay right here, Fitzwilliam, and come wake you at the first sign of movement, I promise you that." Darcy did not respond. "I am worried for you, Fitzwilliam. We both are. Please?" She knew it was her plea that broke her brother's resolve and she could already feel a little swelling of guilt in her stomach. But he was making himself so ill!

Kissing Elizabeth's limp hand, Darcy stood up.

"I'll find Mrs. Reynolds about that tray," Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a nod to both his cousins and then left the room.

"If she shows any sign of movement, even something as small as earlier-"

"I will come and wake you immediately, " Georgiana promised, and with one last torn glance at his wife, Darcy left the his wife's room for his own room next door.

Georgiana took up his perch on the chair near Elizabeth's bed. "Please wake up, Lizzy," she pleaded to her sister's still form. "He needs you." She wiped away a tear that has begun to fall. "We need you." And then Georgiana Darcy let herself do what she had spent the last week telling herself she would not do. She cried.

~o~ ~O~ ~o~

Darcy had not thought he would fall asleep after he finished the dinner Mrs. Reynolds brought up for him. His intention had been to try, to fail, and to return to his wife's bedside. His sister and cousin could not protest that. But loathe though he was to admit it, a week of emotional toil and snatched moments of sleep in a chair had effected Darcy greatly and he was asleep mere minutes after his head hit the pillow.

But the comforts of his own bed and a proper pillow did nothing to stop the nightmare from occurring. For it was not just fear for Elizabeth's life and health that had kept Darcy awake the past week. But his sister or his cousin were not to know that. How to explain to them the torments of his mind? He could not place more worry on Georgiana's frail shoulders. He should have spoken to Edward about it once he arrived. He trusted his cousin more than anyone else, Elizabeth aside. But the words caught in his throat. What did a few nightmares matter, when Elizabeth laid bandaged, bruised and unconscious.?

This time the nightmare started with the daffodils. They grew taller than the trees in the enchanted forest of his dreams. Children danced around the solid base of their stems as they would a maypole, smaller green stems extended and twisting round and round in their hands. The children's laughter was bright, their speech excited, words Darcy could not catch. But the laughter was Elizabeth's, the voices were Elizabeth's. The faces, however, were Georgiana's. Georgiana as the young girl she had been. When their father had still lived and she was too young to truly comprehend the loss of their mother. Toddler face flushed as with all the loudness and liveliness of the very young she showed off some proud achievement to her father and brother. Eyes agleam with life. The Georgiana who knew nothing of loss, of grief or of the trickery of men. It was that Georgiana, long now confirmed to Darcy's memories, that his subconscious had brought forth from the well of the past to dance around the daffodil trees, but with Elizabeth's laugh and Elizabeth's voice. Darcy listened and listened, trying to catch the words of these children, of Elizabeth and Georgiana. Staring high up at the sunshine yellow of the daffodil head that loomed above him, shaded him, and then he heard the words.

"I wish to see the daffodils again," Elizabeth announced over luncheon. Darcy agreed easily and Georgiana cried off, stating studies as her excuse but in reality, Darcy knew, not wanting to intrude upon husband and wife.

The flower of Spring, Elizabeth had called them, their yellow petals bright and optimistic, so suited for the season that saw the return of the sunshine and the beginning of new life. The lambs in the field, the calves in the cow-shed, and the first harvest shoots arising. Elizabeth laughed by his side. Stopping to smell the newly budded flowers. A contented joy radiated from her and Darcy felt a relief settle across him. Spring had truly sprung, and in its doing so he found himself believing for the first time that they could leave the darkness and the harshness of winter behind. And the pain, Darcy hoped. For both himself and Elizabeth. He felt the heat of the sunshine on his face as it illuminated the entire scene. Everything shone bright. Elizabeth in her green walking dress and bonnet. The flowers in their bloom. So many colours. Yellow. Purple. Blue. Pink. So bright. So cheerful. Elizabeth was smiling and life would continue. It had seemed impossible. Just a short few months ago. In the dark of the winter. When the skies were dark and the world was bare and grey and Elizabeth never smiled.

He reached for his wife. To stop her for a few seconds. To try to find the words to share with her all he felt at that moment. But she shook her head and said they would stop at the stream and that seemed so perfect that Darcy did not argue.

The stream. Elizabeth's favourite place on the Pemberley's ground. He had taken her there on her first tour of Pemberley as his new bride and she had fallen in love with it instantly. It was that day again. Their first visit to the stream. It was a beautiful day, that one day of March that could have been summer. He could feel the heat of the sun on his back. Saw it shining in the few curls of her hair that had sprung lose. Then they were lying down in the grass and the wildflowers, at her insistence, and he could hear the stream babbling, and the birds chirping, as her head laid upon his chest, and his fingers twirled those same loose curls, watching the colours flash under the sun.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" He heard the words spill from his lips without him considering it. Shakespeare: remembered from some long ago lesson at Eton. But in that moment, with the sun blazing and his love for Elizabeth filling his every being, it felt right. It did not feel like a boast to say their love would be eternal. Just a mere statement of fact.

"Is it not Spring still, sir?" Elizabeth replied, merriment in her voice, sitting up to turn and look at him. But her eyes and her smile told him that she has understood his compliment. Her eyes. A glimmer of gold flashed amongst the green. She looked up at him as if she could not believe she was lucky enough to find him, when Darcy thought that look was reserved for him to give to her. And as he leaned in to kiss her, he didn't shut his own eyes till the very last moment.

There was terror in them. The moment she fell Darcy locked eyes with that pair that so bewitched him and so he saw the brief moment of panic when her foot slipped. The moment seemed to last a lifetime. Like the whole world had caught its breath. But then it exhaled, the clock ticked the next second, and she was falling. Her body tumbling through the trees and the flowers she adored. Her screams short and quick. The cruel mistress of gravity did her job. Darcy felt his own feet stumbling as he followed after her, shouting cries that were incomprehensible. But then there was the silence. When she reached the bottom of the mount, amongst the rocks and trees of its base, she stopped. And so did her screams. The silence was oppressive. Pressing in on Darcy, even as his footsteps still fell one swiftly after the other. Even as he stumbled and stumbled and ploughed onwards, and there should of been sound. His own thumping footsteps and desperate shouts. Yet the silence pressed down on his lungs, stopping his breathing, as he stared at Elizabeth's still body. Coming closer and closer. Feeling like he was falling too. Until he was there at her side. Sinking down to the ground. Hands desperately at her neck. Looking for the pulse of life.

Blood. There was so much blood. Her hair. Her bonnet. The ground. All soaked with the red warmth of her life. But where did it all come from? How could one woman bleed so much and live? But life, desperate and greedy and insistent, still remained. In the rise and fall of her chest. The pulse underneath his fingers. Slow but still there. Fighting.

All he could see was crimson. Her hair was crimson. His hands were crimson. He scrubbed them afterwards meticulously. Just kept scrubbing and scrubbing. Washing Elizabeth's blood from himself. But he wasn't sure that was what it was. Elizabeth's blood? More than that. What else was it then? He kept scrubbing. Even when he remembered, when he wanted to wretch at the thought, he kept scrubbing. Too aware now of what it was that coated his hands to do anything else. But he hated himself for it. As he saw the water turning red. As he scrubbed the last remains of a life that did not get a chance to live from his hands.

The blood was gone now but still he kept cleaning. He couldn't stop. The doctor was talking. He was still washing his hands and the doctor was talking. He could not hear the words. All he could do was keep on cleaning his hands. The water was cold. It was as red as blood itself. It was doing no good. He was making it worse. His hands were sore. He was rubbing them raw. He should stop. He had to stop. But he couldn't and the doctor kept talking and talking and talking. Whilst Elizabeth laid still on the bed covered in blood. The red on his hands and her hair and her face. He watched and he listened but he saw and heard nothing.

She was awake. She laid on the bed beside him but she was awake. Crying in pain. Darcy tried to calm her, to reassure her, even as fear bubbled within him at her screams. Then he saw the blood. Her nightdress was covered in it where she clutched at her stomach. The red stain spreading across the bed sheet. She was frantic. Asking him what was happening and he didn't know. But he feared. He feared he did know the answer.

Numb. As the doctor still kept on talking. A detachment from reality. This was not happening. None of this was happening. The doctor's words were fading for he could not listen. Not to these cold and uncaring facts. Elizabeth laid still upon the bed once more. Her head bandaged. Scratches on her cheek. Bruises on her body. Her eyes closed. Closed to him for ever? Those eyes he so adored? The doctor kept talking. Except now Elizabeth's eyes were open. She was sat up in the bed, curled tightly into herself. Holding herself together. Her eyes on the doctor. They were dull. No sparkle. No joy in life this morning. She asked the doctor a question.

"I would estimate around two months." A pause. "You should make a full recovery, Mrs. Darcy."

"Mrs. Darcy should make a full recovery."

Same doctor. Different day. It was Darcy he was talking to this time. Darcy tried to force himself to listen. It was important he knew. But he stared at Elizabeth's still form and concluded that none of this was real.

Instead he thought of daffodils. Spring. New life. New beginnings.

"You had something to tell me, Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth asked. She was smiling, eyes twinkling. Not possible that it had all ended before this. How many times had they walked that path? Visited that stream? With never a stumble. Now blood once more stained his hands that he could never get clean. No, not possible. Happiness could not be snatched away so entirely. This could not be real. It was all he could think. That it could not be truly happening.

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the stream, with her boots and her stockings by her side, and her feet dangling into the water below. After many a coaxing and teasing Darcy sat beside her, his footwear equally discarded, his trousers legs rolled up, the clear water trickling past his feet. He looked down at the stream. He could see the stones at the bottom, the occasional tiny fish that swam by, and the sun sparkling off the water. Another beautiful idyllic spring day. Elizabeth splashed her feet in the water, a merry giggle upon her lips. Then she rested her foot upon his, leaning her whole body towards him. With a happy ease, he wrapped his arm round her, pulling her close.

"You had something to tell me, Fitzwilliam?" she said. So he told her. All his thoughts that though they'd never forget their grief he truly felt they could continue with their lives. That they could still build a life together.

He walked back to Pemberley, Elizabeth on his arm. Past the daffodils. Past the bluebell woods. Another Spring flower. And Darcy is filled with all the joys of Spring. He could see Pemberley in the distance now as they ambled back to their home. His family's ancestral home. Together, he determined, they could still make it truly a family's home once more. One day soon, he hoped, it would be filled with the chaos and laughter of young children. He pictured a boy running down the hallway. The picture of him in years long gone by. A young girl, with Elizabeth's sparkling eyes and those tumbledown curls, trailing a doll behind her, and beaming at him as she turned at the sound of his voice.

Another young girl, this one older, blonde curls and blue eyes. His mother's eyes. Running down Pemberley's halls. But not in merriment. Hers was a desperate movement.

"Where's Papa?" she cried. "Fitzwilliam! Where's Papa?" Then she broke down in tears. Loud ugly sobs that could not be quietened. He hugged her and soothed her, said all the right words, but there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do, that would make this better, make it go away.

Georgiana. Crying for their father. For the mother she had never truly met. Death all around them and nothing he could do to protect her.

"Fitzwilliam! Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana still. But not the voice of a child. It came from a distance. The whole world shaking. The image of the grieving girl started to fade.

"Wake up! Fitzwilliam! Wake up!"

Reality struck. He was in his bed and he had been having the nightmare again. Through the haze of his mind, Darcy tried to recall what was real and what he had imagined. The fall. The screams. The blood. The stillness. That was reality and it made Darcy want to cry all over again as he remembered. The talk by the stream, the walk back to Pemberley, nothing more than a cruel trick of his mind. For this was the worst part of the nightmare, when it showed him what should have been. When he returned to Pemberley with Elizabeth safely on his arm, only to wake up and remember that this was now but a dream. That such an everyday delight was now not possible except in his dreams.

"Fitzwilliam! Fitzwilliam! Wake up! She's awake! Lizzy's awake! Lizzy's awake!" It took a few moments for the words to form in Darcy's sleep-idled brain but the effect when they did was instantaneous. He shot out of bed, following the light of the candle in Georgiana's hand as she rushed ahead back into Elizabeth's room.

And there she was. Elizabeth. His Elizabeth. Alive and awake and looking as beautiful as ever. Even with the bandage round her head and the bruises and scratches. He heard her mutter his name (Elizabeth had never truly given up her habit of referring to him by his surname rather than his Christian name) as he pulled her to his chest and held her close. He made no attempt to hide his tears of relief as he muttered endearments into her hair, placing kisses tenderly where the bandage did not prevent him. But finally he let her go so as to take a closer look at her, cupping her face in his hand.

"How are you feeling, Elizabeth?" he asked, examining her face for any sign of pain or illness. She was still far paler than was natural for any lady - never mind one with Elizabeth's healthy admiration for the outdoors - but what worried him more was the look of confusion on her face. But of course no one had explained the accident to her. She no doubt wondered why Darcy was acting quite so dramatic. Despite all his efforts to not come across quite so taciturn - especially in regards to his feelings for his wife - he had never quite so openly showed his emotions before.

"Elizabeth?" She edged backwards from him on the bed, out of his grasp, containing to stare at him in shock, her mouth hanging up. She clung to the blankets like a shield between them. It's as if she is scared of me, he thought. Darcy felt his hand drop to his side and an uncomfortable sensation curled in his stomach . This was not the reaction he expected. Confusion perhaps, but this was something else entirely. He had never seen Elizabeth have such an expression on her face before and he couldn't quite give it a name.

"Where am I?" Elizabeth asked, her voice shook slightly, though he could tell she tried to hide it. She is merely disoriented, he told himself. Normal given the circumstances. Yet still the look on her face. Almost disgust. Or hatred.

"In your room. At Pemberley." He waited for her to relax in realisation, instead she only looked more scared.

"Pemberley?" Elizabeth formed the word slowly, as though it was a foreign language she was trying to learn. Then she winced in pain.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy cried, rushing forward to comfort her. But Elizabeth's reaction was to clamber on her knees further back along the bed. She only stopped when her feet hit the other edge, leaving the entire width of the bed between herself and the Darcy siblings.

"Pemberley." Again she formed the word carefully. "Pemberley is your home," she told him.

"Our home," he corrected automatically. So many times in the early months of his marriage he'd had to remind his wife that what was his was now also hers.

Elizabeth shook her head at him, brown curls falling across her face from the vigorous action. He saw her wince again at the movement, followed by her look of surprise when she raised a hand to her bandaged head. "My home, sir, is Longbourn."

Darcy's stomach dropped a little further. Whilst he was still trying to process the implications of such a sentence, Georgiana stepped from behind her brother, moving closer to the bed and her terrified sister.

"You will always be welcome in Longbourn, I have no doubt, Lizzy." Darcy thought of Mr. Collins and did doubt but held his tongue. "But your home is here now. With us."

"And who are you?" Darcy heard no malice in Elizabeth's words but surely she had to know what hurt they would cause his sister. He glanced between the two of them, as Elizabeth continued to stare wide-eyed at them and Georgiana's eyes filled with tears and her lower lip wobbled. "I had not desired to upset you, Miss, with my question," Elizabeth explained. "I am merely trying to make sense of my surroundings."

"Do you not remember me?" Georgiana asked. Elizabeth shook her head again, a gentler movement this time Darcy noticed. Before she could expand on her answer Darcy took the plunge and asked the all important question whilst an ever increasing feeling of dread invaded his senses.

"Elizabeth, what do you remember?"


	3. A Revelation

**Chapter 3 - A Revelation**

"Last time I saw you, Mr. Darcy, was the night of the Netherfield ball, and as far I can recall neither yourself or your friend Mr. Bingley have found reason to return to our neighbourhood since that night." It was a small jibe at his friend that Elizabeth could not bring herself to resist. She knew she should not be purposely annoying Mr. Darcy - not here in what was supposedly his home, in front of a young woman who she supposed must be his sister, and when her family were who knows where. She was entirely at his mercy. More so than she could ever have imagined.

"And you can recall no events afterwards?" Elizabeth tried her hardest, she wanted nothing more than an explanation of how she had come to be here at Pemberley. But nothing greeted her, coupled with a sharp twinge of pain. Elizabeth gingerly touched a hand to her head, felt once more the bandages there. The reason, she presumed, for why her head felt so very stiff. Though why she needed them in the first place was a whole different explanation that Elizabeth also could not even begin to guess.

Mr. Darcy and his sister must have seen the pain upon her face because they both moved forward as though to try to comfort her. Mr. Darcy stopped mid movement, outstretched arm flopping back to his side, but Miss. Darcy did not, scurrying across the bed to sit down beside her, and taking her hand in her own. Elizabeth's initial reaction was a desire to pull her hand away from this stranger but she tampered it down owing to the look of tender-hearted concern upon her face.

"Does it hurt so very much, dear Lizzy?" Such an endearment from a strange woman's mouth took Elizabeth by surprise. 'Why do you care?' is what she wanted to answer but she held her tongue.

"A little," Elizabeth lied. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. For her movements of the last half hour had made her whole body ache alongside her head. For the first time she noted the bruises and cuts that marked her arms, marking an intricate pattern of yellow, purple and red down her arms. It was a testimony to the remarkable nature of the situation she had awoken to that she had not noticed them earlier.

"Are you quite certain?" Miss. Darcy was asking. "We could send for the doctor? Now that you are awake I am certain he would wish to examine you once more. "

"Oh no. No. No, thank you. It is the middle of the night. There is no need to disturb anyone on my behalf," Elizabeth replied.

"I shall send a message to him at dawn," Mr. Darcy announced and Elizabeth felt a friction of irritation. So very commanding.

"There is no need, sir." She was not sure why she continued to protest the idea even when she so greatly desired to learn what had befallen her.

The idea of another person being witness to this scene distressed her. Perhaps because she was so completely clueless as to how she should act towards the Darcys. Were they her saviours in all this; letting her recoup after an accident of some description? Was she in their debt; an idea she despised? Or was she free to hate them as she wished to? For their pride and their egoism? (The fact that neither Darcy had shown either so far had not escaped her notice, but she brushed it off as an anomaly, caused by whatever extraordinary event had brought them to their current circumstance.)

Or perhaps it was simply because Mr. Darcy was in her bedchamber, with him in his bed clothes and she in hers, against all the roles of propriety. Heaven forbid another person be witness to that. 'Imagine the scandal!' as her mother would say.

"On the contrary, my dear Elizabeth, there appears to be every need." Here Mr. Darcy reached out once more as if to comfort her, only to have grimaced and decided against it, awkwardly changing his action mid motion to run his fingers through his own bed-tousled curls.

If Miss. Darcy's use of an endearment had thrown Elizabeth that was nothing compared to Mr. Darcy's. My dear. My. His. He had called her his. Elizabeth wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of that notion. She would never have agreed to belong to Mr. Darcy of all people. And he would never have asked her of all people.

Yet why else would you be here, a nagging voice in her head asked. The idea had been there ever since he had hugged her, muttering words to her that she was too shocked to comprehend. But she had ignored the suggestion as impossible. There had to be some other rationalization. Any other explanation would make more sense. Yet what else could explain her presence in his home. And his presence in her bedchamber.

"Elizabeth?" Mr. Darcy was looking at her, his face folded into its habitual frown. It was almost reassuring to see him as she remembered. She bite down her desire to correct him over his term of address for her, as she had every time he had called her by her Christian name. It mattered even less now - what was calling her plainly Elizabeth compared to calling her 'my dear Elizabeth'? And if her suspicions were correct he had every right to call her both.

He seemed to be waiting upon a response and Elizabeth wondered how long she had sat silent, lost in contemplation. She had to ask. She knew she had to. But the words caught in her throat. Once she had her answer it would be an undeniable fact. One she could no longer ignore the truth of. Or the consequences.

"Are you tired?" Miss. Darcy asked, giving the hand she still held a gentle squeeze. "Shall we leave you to rest till the doctor arrives?"

"No," Elizabeth cried quickly. Much as the idea of sleep appealed to her aching body she knew she would never rest until she had the answer to her question. "Mr. Darcy," she began, turning from his sister to face him, "If I ask you a potentially delicate question, will you promise to answer it in a direct and honest manner?" Mr. Darcy looked baffled but replied in the affirmative. "How did I come to be residing within your home?"

Mr. Darcy paused a moment, scrutinising her in the intense manner he always did. As usual he looked like he did not approve of what he saw. "You are my wife," he answered. Nice and plain, just as she had requested.

"But how? I mean-" For once the witty Elizabeth was lost for words. She had meant exactly what she had blurted out in her surprise. How had such an event ever come to pass?

Though she had come to suspect the answer, it made it no less of a shock. She realised she had still hoped for a different answer, still thought it so very ridiculous that there had to be a different explanation!

"That is not possible!" she insisted. She saw the shock on Miss. Darcy's face but her brother hide his reaction - whatever it may have been -well behind a stoic mask. What did he feel behind those cold eyes and the lips pressed together into a thin frown? Anger? Upset? Surprise? Or nothing? Was there no mask? Was this uncaring facade exactly how he felt? Yet he had not been uncaring when he first saw her awake. Or when she had been wincing in pain. No, there was definitely emotion at work inside the man. Elizabeth only wished she knew what.

"I assure you it is. I am your husband, Elizabeth." The words were softly spoken but his expression did not change. Still no give away to his true thoughts.

She thought to deny the idea again. But no volume of disbelief could overpower the logic of the explanation. It was the only explanation that could make the current situation make any sense. For here Mr. Darcy stood in his bed clothes, his sister beside him, in a house they claimed was their own, and the only possible reason she could be there was if she, too , belonged there.

She was the wife of Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. This man - who she hated and who she had thought hated her - she was tied to him for the rest of her life. There would be no return to Longbourn and her family. No escaping the bizarre situation she had awoken to. For this was her life now. This was her home. And this was her husband. And her sister. And her situation in life was to look after and love this place and these people, and provide them with their future. That last thought made her stomach flip. The future. A heir. As his wife she would be expected to bear Mr. Darcy a heir for Pemberley. He must share her bed. Unless she had already managed her wifely duty.

Mr. Darcy had been talking to her whilst she had once more lost herself to her own startled thoughts but now she cut across his statement about how difficult this must be for her to understand.

"Do we have any children, sir?"

She heard Miss. Darcy's startled gasp but her eyes remained trained on Darcy. She saw a flash of reaction in his icy blue eyes, a hint of emotion, but he covered it up almost as soon as it had arrived. Though she saw small spots of red flourish on both his cheeks.

"No. Not yet," he answered matter of factly. So that meant he had been trying - that he hoped they would conceive a child soon. She had shared her bed with Mr. Darcy; a man she hated more than any other, a man who considered her tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him. She, who had always declared that she would marry for nothing less than love and mutual affection. What on Earth could have induced her to such an action? Such a turn around in all she believed in. Had he seduced her? Ruined her reputation and been forced by public censure to marry her? But he had despised her. Looked down his nose at her at every opportunity. She found it difficult to believe he would ever have had any desire for her. And even if he had compromised her in some way he could have just ridden off and left her to her fate. Wickham's story had proven he was man who gave little consideration to the lives and ruination of those around him. She could picture that turn of events, Mr. Darcy ruining her and then abandoning her, more than she could any occurrence that would have lead to her current circumstances. The only thing she couldn't picture in that story was herself being compromised. She knew her own mind - broken though it appeared to be at the moment - well enough to know she would never have allowed herself to be seduced. Especially by Mr. Darcy of all men.

Both Darcys were watching her carefully, both silent now, she imagined they were waiting for her to speak but she knew not what to say. How was she to ask a man why she had married him when she detested him, and had been so sure that he detested her? And in front of his younger sister, no less, who was still clutching her hand and staring at her with concern. How to word it to cause the least offence? Perhaps better not to ask - the best method for avoiding causing offence. Yet Elizabeth knew that was not an option. She would not be able to live with not knowing. Not the answer to a question so imperative in examining the woman she had apparently come to be. For what had caused her to go against her deepest wish? Everything she had believed in and hoped for. Elizabeth would have liked to believe that nothing would cause her to abandon her principles. Even when Mr. Collins had reminded her of her family's tenuous situation she had stood firm in her refusal of his insulting mess of a proposal. It was thinking of Mr. Collins that brought what might have been the only possible reason for her current situation crashing into Elizabeth's mind. Her stomach turned to lead with fear and she asked the question without thought or consideration, all worries about causing offence forgotten.

"Is my father dead?" The question was quietly spoken, and Miss. Darcy was quick to respond, reassuring her with a tighter hand squeeze that her father was in fine health, that they had heard from him just yesterday. Miss. Darcy turned to her brother as though expecting him to chime in to support her statements and it was then that both women noticed the scowl now etched onto his face. If Elizabeth had previously been wondering what had happened to the stern and miserable man she remembered she was now reunited with his even worse rendition.

"Is that the only possible reason you can think would give you cause to marry me?" Mr. Darcy's voice was cold, his lips pressed into two thin lines as he frowned at her. His eyes were two blue stones under severe eyebrows.

She knew she should lie. She had to live the rest of her life with this miserable man. But Elizabeth was not going to lie to maintain his prickly pride. Not for the sake of this horrible man who thought himself so above her and her family and her friends and her acquaintances. Who had ruined a man's life with no consideration to the effect of his actions.

"Yes," she answered.


	4. A Giving of Advice

**Chapter 4 - A Giving of Advice**

For the first time in her seventeen years of life Georgiana Darcy wanted to shout at her brother. At this man glaring at his own wife. To tell him to stop hiding his anguish with anger, to stop building up walls to keep everyone out. But the words caught in her throat. Now was not the time. Not whilst Elizabeth and Darcy tried to stare each other down, Elizabeth's simple one word answer still ringing in all their ears even as the silence stretched on. Eventually, Elizabeth backed down.

"My head is most sore, sir. I think I should rest." It was an obvious dismissal. Georgiana glanced between her brother and sister-in-law. She tried to read the reaction in Darcy's face. But his earlier aggravation was gone, smoothed away now to the very picture of civility.

"Of course, Elizabeth. We shall leave you to your sleep." Darcy gave a formal bow.

"You should remain abed until the doctor arrives," Georgiana advised her, removing herself from the bed. "Would you like me to take the candle away?"

"Please, Miss. Darcy." Elizabeth's eyes stayed focused on Georgiana, refusing to look at Darcy.

It didn't feel fitting to Georgiana that Darcy and Elizabeth should leave their conversation at point it had reached. Yet one look at them both told her that any further conversation between the two of them would only make the situation worse. So she trailed after her brother as he stalked out of the room, and, with one last look over at Elizabeth, closed the door to the Mistress's chamber behind her.

"You should go to your bed, Georgiana. A few hours sleep would do you much good as well." Another obvious dismissal. She could see the tension in her brother and knew that as soon as he was behind his own bedroom door he would breakdown. She wanted to help, to comfort, to advise, but she did not know if he would accept any form of help from her and so instead she said goodnight and left her brother to his misery.

The few hours of sleep did not happen. Georgiana doubted that any of them had actually slept, imagined her brother and Elizabeth were kept awake by their thoughts just as she was. She kept seeing Elizabeth's shocked face, her denial of her marriage, her cold answer. It made no sense to Georgiana. Even if Elizabeth only remembered her brother's trip to Hertfordshire, Georgiana could not understand why that would cause Elizabeth to treat her brother with such disdain. For when Darcy's letters of the time had mentioned Miss. Elizabeth Bennet it had been to sing her praises. Georgiana distinctly remembered the story of Jane Bennet's illness and the mud on Elizabeth's petticoats. Her brother's admiration of Elizabeth's actions that day, and his advice that Miss. Elizabeth's consideration for her sister spoke much more volumes than her lack of concern for the mud on her petticoats, whatever the opinion of women like Mrs. Hurst and Miss. Bingley to what consisted of good womanly behaviour. How he hoped Georgiana would also be more willingly to consider the care of others against such small qualms of fashions.

Georgiana could not help but wonder what else had happened in Hertfordshire that might not have been in her brother's letters, which might have caused such a strong reaction from her sister. But that was just idle curiosity, she scolded herself. If her brother had not chosen to take her into his confidence then that was to be expected. It was private business between himself and his wife, none of Georgiana's concern.

Yet Georgiana could not help but feel that whatever the reasoning behind it, her brother's reaction to his wife's admittances were her concern. For she knew what he was doing, exactly the same as he had done to her after Ramsgate, trying to hide his upset and his pain behind a wall of civility. Trying to keep it all to himself so as not to burden those around him. He had been doing it since Elizabeth fell, though not all that effectively. But now that Elizabeth was awake, and yet had awoken in such a manner that her brother's inner torment was not prevented by the circumstance, Georgian knew he had to stop. Or he would push his wife away, like Georgiana had feared he was trying to push her away after her near elopement. For the civility in place of kindness felt so similar to hatred, especially when the stoic mask slipped, as it had earlier, and a flash of anguish was seen that felt more like abhorrence if you did not know better. Which, Georgiana reflected, Elizabeth currently did not.

What more, none of this was Elizabeth's fault. Georgiana may have deserved the cold civility that was her brother's attempt to shield her from his disappointment and anger, but Elizabeth did not. These were circumstances beyond anyone's control.

She would have to speak of it to him, and she could think of nothing she would like to do less. She never felt comfortable advising her brother, not when it should naturally be the other way round.

Perhaps I could ask Edward to speak to Fitzwilliam, she thought to herself, but though the idea tempted her, she forced herself to push it away. It was a coward's option. So instead she laid wide awake, considering how best to have such a conversation with her brother.

The young scullery maid, Lily, jumped when she entered the room only to discover that the young mistress was awake. She quickly turned the movement into a courtesy.

"Sorry, Miss. Darcy. I did not know you were awake. I came to stoke the fire."

Georgiana glanced over at the window. Light could be seen behind the curtains. Whilst she had been lost in thought dawn had broken and the new day begun. Despite how tired she felt she knew she would get no sleep now.

"Do as you normally would, Lily, don't let my presence bother you. I was planning to rise soon besides. Could you send Anna up when she awakes to help me dress? I am aware I am rising earlier then normal."

"Yes, Miss." Lily set off to her work. Once she was gone Georgiana begin to pace the room, she was still at this action when Anna, the housemaid who also served as Georgiana's lady's maid, entered the room.

Georgiana said little as Anna dressed her for the day. Anna, well aware of her young mistress's moods, reflected this.

"Is it true Mrs. Darcy is awake?" Anna asked as she tied the strings of Georgiana's dress. It was clear Anna had been dying to ask this question since she had entered the room.

"Yes." Looking up in the mirror, Georgiana could see the curiosity burning in the face of the woman at work behind her. She could guess the questions on Anna's mind. Was that not a cause of celebration? Why was Georgiana so glum this morning? But not wanting to fuel whatever gossip was already spreading downstairs Georgiana kept her own counsel and did not answer any of Anna's unasked questions.

Once she was dressed she went down to break her fast and was unsurprised to find her brother was also awake and dressed. He glanced up at her entrance, giving her a tired smile. He looked only a moderately better than he had yesterday, his clothes were clean and freshly on, and the week's worth of stubble had been shaved from his face. He was at least making an effort to appear presentable now that Elizabeth was awake - or allowing himself to be persuaded by his valet to do so - but the haunted look on his face could not be disguised so easily. Georgiana's realized that the conversation she had to have with her brother may be less important than she thought, looking at him she doubted he could continue hiding his true emotions for much longer even if he tried.

"Could you not sleep either, dear sister?"

Georgiana helped herself to toast and tea from the offer of food on the side, thankfully the servants at Pemberley were used to its residents being early risers.

"No. A restless mind." Georgiana could feel her nerves jangling as she poured milk into her tea. She would say her piece now and get it over and done with. "That will be all for now," she addressed the waiting footman. He glanced over at his master, who gave the tiniest of nods. With a bow to them both he left the room. Darcy was looking at Georgiana with a keen interest, clearly waiting for to speak.

Georgiana took a sip of tea to fortify herself. "Fitzwilliam," she began. "I know it is not my place to advise you-"

Here Darcy interrupted her, "I am always willing to listen to any advice you have to give, Georgiana. I hope you know that."

Georgiana conceded to this statement with a nod. "I am worried more that this is not a topic upon which you would welcome advise from your younger sister."

"Elizabeth?" Her name came out in a desperate whisper. Darcy closed his eyes for a second and sighed. "I am sorry you had to witness that conversation earlier."

"I don't think its me whose owed the apology." The words were out before she could stop them. Darcy looked shocked. "I'm sorry, brother, I mean-"

"You have no need to apologise, Georgiana. In fact that ball is in currently in my court, as you have so astutely pointed out to me." Another sigh. A world of agony in his eyes that he could not disguise from one who knew him so well, try as he might. "I was too cold, wasn't I?"

Reluctantly Georgiana nodded. "That is what I wished to say. Do not shut Elizabeth out, Fitzwilliam. I know that you hide your own emotions in an attempt to save others from your burdens. And I do not know, nor do I expect you to share, all that has happened between yourself and Elizabeth, but whatever it may be that she has forgotten she will never understand if you will not share it with her. Nor do you have a chance of your sentiments once more being reciprocated if you hide those very same sentiments from her view. When you build your walls, Fitzwilliam, you may protect yourself, but you are also keeping out those that love you."

"I am repeating my mistakes, am I not?" Georgiana had never heard her brother sound so deflated before, his words ringing with self-loathing. "I just never expected that she could... for her to forget..." The raw pain in his voice made Georgiana want to hug him close in comfort but she held her place. For she thought if she did it might just tip her brother over the edge into a full breakdown, and she knew that was the last thing he would ever want her to witness. Darcy pulled a hand through his hair, looking more ragged than ever. "Thank you for your advice, Georgiana. I will speak to Elizabeth after the doctor has seen to her." He gave her a small proud smile. "You have grown into quite the remarkable woman, my little Georgiana."

"Thank you, brother." She felt the tears threatening to spill, from joy or sadness she was not sure. Darcy passed her his handkerchief then turned his attention back to his own food, giving her a moment to compose herself. Once she had calmed herself she returned to her food, finding her toast had gone cold. She could have gotten more to eat but she found she had little appetite. Instead, finishing her tea she turned to her brother once more. "I think I will practise my music with Mrs. Annesley this morning, if you would care to join us?" She did not want her brother to lock himself away in his study. All trace of their normal routine had disappeared in the last week, so it did not seem too ridiculous a notion to offer from him to join her in her routine.

"I would like that very much."

~o~ ~O~ ~o~

Colonel Fitzwilliam awoke from his sleep later than intended. Glancing at the clock, he dressed in a hurry. Thankfully military life had prepared him for doing so without the need to call for a valet. He hoped Darcy still slept, and if so he was most delayed in relieving Georgiana of her post at Elizabeth's bedside. The poor girl would have been there all night in that quickly uncomfortable becoming chair.

As he hurried into his cousin's chambers he did not have time to process the difference in the scene before he heard the shout of surprise.

"Who are you, sir? And how dare you enter my room!" Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth at her stern words but he not fully register what she had said. For what was important was that she was awake and Fitzwilliam felt relief flood him. Thank the Lord Above, for he had known Darcy and Georgiana could not survive much longer without her.

She had pulled the blankets up to her chin and Fitzwilliam was reminded that she was exceedingly correct in her outburst. Propriety may have been relaxed whilst she was unconscious and he was helping to support his cousins' grief. But now she was most definitely awake and neither of his cousins were anywhere to be seen, and there was nothing proper about him being alone with his cousin's wife in her bed chambers. Fitzwilliam could only hope that Darcy saw the humorous side of the situation. His cousin did have a slight jealous streak to him after all. If only where his wife was concerned.

"My apologies, Mrs. Darcy, I had not heard the good news of your awakening. I'll see myself out." He waited for her teasing response as he turned to leave, but none followed. She only stared at him in her startled horror. How very unlike Elizabeth.

It was only as he stepped out of the room that Fitzwilliam recognised the first part of his cousin's outburst. Elizabeth had asked who he was as if she had never met him. He nearly turned to ask her to explain, but deciding against it - for it could only make the situation worse - he closed the door behind him and went and knocked on the door to Darcy's bedchamber.

If only I'd knocked on Elizabeth's door, he thought ruefully. But it had never been necessary in the week that it had opened upon a sick chamber, and he had never even considered entering the chambers of his cousin's wife before that terrible turn of events. Receiving no response, he opened the door with caution, in case Darcy was still asleep. But no, he was not there and Fitzwilliam was not surprised. Darcy would not have been left to sleep when Elizabeth awoke. Indeed, it was a shock that Darcy was not in there with his wife now, celebrating their reunion.

He pictured Elizabeth again, terrified and demanding to know who he was. Something was still terribly wrong here and his best chance of finding out what laid with finding his cousin.

He aimed in the general direction of Darcy's study as his best guess at his cousin's current location. Finding that it, too, was empty, he pulled over a passing hall boy whilst on his way to the library, who informed him, in a terrified stammer, that the Master was with Miss. Darcy in the music room.

There he found Georgiana playing one of Darcy's favourites upon the pianoforte, Mrs. Annesley turning the pages for her as Darcy sat and watched. A horribly melancholy song that did not bode well with Fitzwilliam. Darcy's music choices had begun to favour more towards the upbeat ever since he had married Elizabeth.

"Good morning, Cousin," Georgiana stopped her playing to greet him. "Have you heard the good news?" Georgiana's pleased attitude seemed forced.

Fitzwilliam glanced at Darcy's reaction to this. But nothing more happened than his cousin's lips tightened in their frown. Somehow Darcy looked even worse today than he had yesterday, when his cousin and his sister were so worried about him they had forced him to his bed.

"In fact I have," Fitzwilliam informed Georgiana. " I discovered it in rather spectacular fashion when I went to relieve you of your bedside duties." Once more his eyes flickered to Darcy, to see his cousin's reaction upon learning he had been inside Elizabeth's bed chambers.

"Did she recognise you?" Darcy asked. He sounded even more tired despite the opportunity for sleep. Not just tired though. World-weary.

"No. She asked who I was."

"And what did you tell her?"

That caused Fitzwilliam to pause as he realised the answer. "Nothing. I was rather preoccupied with leaving your wife's bed chambers as soon as possible."

This at least got a slight reaction out of Darcy, who quirked an eyebrow at his cousin.

Georgiana, however, was not impressed. "You mean to tell us that you left the bed chamber of a woman who has no recollection of who you are without giving an explanation of any description?"

"Yes?" It was dawning on Fitzwilliam that perhaps that had not been the smartest move.

"Do you have any idea how terrifying that would be for a woman? Especially a woman in Elizabeth's condition?"

"I, well, I did not think," Fitzwilliam stammered. Georgiana stared at him for a few seconds in a manner that made him believe she was resisting an Elizabeth-esque quip about how that much was obvious. However, confidence growing as it was, she still never had the nerve to cheek her guardians.

"I believe I should go check on her," she announced instead, and with a quick courtesy to both her guardians she swept out of the room, Mrs. Annesley following behind her with a quick apology for the gentlemen.

"When did our little Georgie become so very outspoken?" he asked Darcy. Darcy didn't even smile.

"You know I dislike that name for her."

"That's why I use it, Darcy." Still no reaction. So Fitzwilliam turned to the issue at hand. "Why does Elizabeth not remember me? What else has she forgot?"

"Everything." Fitzwilliam would have laughed at his cousin's uncharacteristically dramatic answer if it was not for the look of misery on his face when he said it.

"Surely that is an exaggeration? Come now, Cousin, your wife is awake! This should be a cause for celebration not misery."

"She does remember my first trip to Hertfordshire." It didn't escape Fitzwilliam's notice that Darcy paid no heed to the second part of his statement.

"Is that such a terrible time to remember?"

Darcy had never shared much of his courtship with Elizabeth with his cousin - though Fitzwilliam had gleamed that they had a rocky start.

"I did not leave her with the best of impressions of me," Darcy admitted. Fitzwilliam decided against asking what had happened. He knew his cousin well enough to know he still had no intention of sharing.

"And then you next saw her in Kent? A fact she has forgotten?"

Here Darcy nodded but did not elaborate.

Fitzwilliam remembered trying to persuade Elizabeth of Darcy's good character during the same conversation in the woods near Rosings in which he had subtly informed her that he himself could never consider her as his wife. Though the reasons he had given were valid, the other reason that he had not stated to Elizabeth was that it was obvious to him that his cousin was besotted with the fine young Miss. Bennet. Just as obvious was that Miss. Bennet did not share his attachment. Darcy had not shared his desire with his cousin, in fact he had sternly denied or ignored all of Fitzwilliam's subtle (and not so subtle) hints in regards to how fine and beautiful a young lady Miss. Elizabeth Bennet appeared to be. Only once reacting enough to inform Fitzwilliam she was too poor to be of any interest to him. Still Fitzwilliam had decided he would help his cousin's efforts to win Miss. Bennet's affection - pig-headed though Darcy could be. He also knew from Darcy's miserable attitude the entire carriage ride back to Town that he must have failed.

But he had never known the full story of what had happened when Darcy visited the Hunsford parsonage that day, or how months later he had managed to win Miss. Bennet's fair heart after all.

Even though he knew Darcy had no desire to talk about it, if Fitzwilliam was going to be of any help to his cousins he knew he had to ask.

"I hate to pry into your private life, Darcy, but I feel given the circumstance you've found yourself in I must if I am to be of any help to you. What exactly has Elizabeth forgotten?"

Darcy sighed and shook his head but Fitzwilliam knew he was preparing himself to answer. "You know that Elizabeth and I did not have an easy courtship? Or at least an easy acquaintance prior to our courtship."

"I had gathered as much, yes."

Here Darcy paused, on the cusp of speech, and Fitzwilliam wondered just how bad it could truly have been. "You'll remember I went to Hertfordshire at your father's insistence, when I told him of Bingley's invitation he said it would be good to give myself a change of scenery, something else to focus on after the near-disaster at Ramsgate. But it was your mother who convinced me I should go, she said Georgiana would benefit from me giving her a chance to breathe. Told me that if she was to recover I had to give her a chance to do so for herself, not just in an attempt to please me because she thought that she owed me. She accused me of smothering her. I was most fuming with her at first."

"Andrew told me you argued with Mother one day and left Matlock House in rather high dungeon. He claimed you even slammed the front door."

"As always your dear older brother exaggerates." Darcy's monotone did not change much at this piece of teasing. Fitzwilliam detected perhaps a hint of added exasperation but nothing else. In more normal circumstances tales of Andrew Fitzwilliam's ever growing tendency for dramatics and flamboyance was a source of mutual amusement and exasperation between his two closest male relatives. But Fitzwilliam realised it would take a lot more than his brother's antics to shake Darcy out of his dourness.

Darcy continued with his recollections."Once my initial anger cooled I recognised the wisdom in her words, and the Earl's. I wrote to Bingley to say I would be delighted to take the measure of his new estate with him. I declined to tell him of the events of the summer. Though I trust Bingley would never intentionally break a confidence, he does not always think before he speaks. And heavens knows what that viper of a sister of his would have discovered. No, it seemed better for all involved to keep the intelligence within the family. No need to risk Georgiana's reputation by telling more people than necessary." Here Darcy looked thoughtful. Fitzwilliam decided only Elizabeth could have had that effect and wondered if she knew of Georgiana's near elopement. He then decided the question was not if but when she had learned.

"So you had travelled to Hertfordshire to visit Bingley, and avoid Bingley's sister as best you could." Fitzwilliam'd had the dubious honour of meeting Miss. Bingley at Darcy and Bingley's joint wedding, and whilst she definitely had the inheritance to support an earl's second son, no amount of money could make her misguided efforts at being charming and flirtatious attractive.

"It did not go as planned at first. Bingley insisted I go to the assembly that was held the day after I arrived, despite my protests. I did not feel ready for company, especially the taxation of meeting so many new acquaintances. Bingley, as I am sure you can guess, revelled in it. If there one aspect of each other we will never understand about each other it is our different attitude to societal events. I conceded with bad grace, but I should not have attended that assembly. You have seen me in unfamiliar company, Edward, but picture me at the very worst you have witnessed me, and I assure you it was nothing compared to my uncouth behaviour at the Meryton assembly. My only excuse was that my thoughts were still at Pemberley with Georgiana. The last thing I wished to be doing was being in a large company of new acquaintances. It was at that point I thought I should have just told Bingley the truth." Fitzwilliam had indeed been witness to his cousin's shyness and awkwardness in company, a trait many of his associates attributed to pride or ego. For what did a man of Darcy's stature have to be shy about? He had seen his cousin stand at the side of ballrooms when there were single women without a partner because he did not wish for the tedium of small talk. He could easily imagine Darcy offending the entire population of Meryton by standing in a corner brooding all night without a word or a dance, whilst their single young daughters went partnerless.

"Is this where you first met Elizabeth?"

"In a manner of speaking. We were not properly introduced but she, um, heard an, um, unfortunate comment I made to Bingley." Fitzwilliam gave his cousin a look of obvious expectation. "I regret what I said. It is the most categorically incorrect statement I was ever foolish enough to utter."

"You realise, Darcy, you are only serving to make me more curious."

"And curious you will have to remain. I have no desire to repeat it."

"So you did not set a good impression on your first day in Hertfordshire. Is that what Elizabeth remembers?"

"It is more than that." Darcy glanced away from his cousin. He was staring at the pianoforte intensely, though Fitzwilliam was certain his thoughts were far away. In a different county, in a different year.

"She hated me," Darcy said. His voice was shaky despite the fact he was clearly putting all his best efforts into keeping it under control.

Fitzwilliam frowned."Surely you are being dramatic again, Cousin? You do not marry a man you used to hate. Or at least Elizabeth is not the type of woman who would do so."

Darcy chuckled darkly at that. "That is most true. She rejected me the first time I proposed. When she still hated me and I was an ignorant fool." It did not pass Fitzwilliam's notice that was the second time in less than five minutes that Darcy had called himself a fool. It would not do to allow his cousin to hold such a low opinion of himself for long.

"Kent?" Fitzwilliam guessed and Darcy nodded.

"'The last man I would ever be prevailed upon to marry.' That is what she called me."

Fitzwilliam pulled a face. "She does not mince her words."

"Indeed. When informed of our marriage earlier one of her first responses was to ask if her father was dead."

"But why would her father's death be related to your marriage?" Darcy did not answer and then realisation hit. "Oh!" Fitzwilliam felt a rush of sympathy for his cousin.

"And so I asked her if that was the only circumstance in which she could envision herself marrying me and she answered, she answered…" Darcy's stammering told his cousin exactly what Elizabeth's answer had been.

"She answered yes?" Darcy nodded. Fitzwilliam pointedly ignored the water gathering in his cousin's eyes. "I hate to say it, Cousin, but since I know how much you despise empty platitudes I will spare you from them and cut straight to the truth of the matter. It does sound like you are not being dramatic. That she truly did hate you."

"Does," Darcy corrected in a dull voice. "She does hate me. I am sure you will witness the truth in that sentence soon enough."

"You realise what you have to, don't you, Cousin?" Darcy looked up at his cousin with a desperate hope burning in his eyes. "She started off hating you and then falling in love with you once, did she not? All you have to do is help her to fall in love with you again."

At which Darcy laughed - the bleakest sound yet.


	5. A Fear of the Unknown

**Chapter 5 - A Fear of the Unknown**

As she watched the door shut behind the mystery gentleman, Elizabeth's thoughts were swirling. She tried to settle them. To choose a topic and focus on it, but there were too many warring thoughts within her mind. She reminded herself of her mother when Mrs. Bennet's nerves were being frayed and all her thoughts and emotions rushed out as one plethora of broken sentences, gasps and shouts.

Elizabeth wanted to stand up and pace around the room to release some of the frantic energy of her mind but she remembered Miss. Darcy's insistence that she remain in bed until the doctor arrived to give a better analysis of her health. She saw the sense in such a request but she was uncontainably restless. She did not want to lay another minute in this bed. But her attempt at standing up only proved Miss. Darcy correct in her suggestion, as Elizabeth fell heavily back onto the bed, her vision spinning.

She took a moment to compose herself and then she settled herself upon the pillows once more. Every muscle in her body hurt. She wanted to sleep but her mind was too occupied for that. Instead she stared up at the light blue canopy of her bed. The blankets and curtains of the bed matched it. It was a favourite colour of hers, reminding her of sunny days and clear skies. But she supposed it should not come as such a surprise that she had decorated her own room to her own taste. As for the other details of the room she had paid little attention to them as dawn had broke and light had slowly filtered through the window curtains to illuminate them. Mainly because she had not left the bed. She had looked up briefly when a maid had entered to restock the fire burning in the fireplace, had opened her mouth to talk, though she did not know what she could say, but it did not matter anyway as before she could speak the maid noticed her attention, bobbed a courtesy and scurried out. It was only after she was gone Elizabeth realized what she had wanted to ask:

"Where am I?"

For though Darcy and his sister had told her she was at their home, Pemberley, she needed confirmation that this wasn't all one big practical joke. Not that Mr. Darcy seemed the pranking type. It was the last thing she could imagine him doing in fact. Well, second to last after marrying her. And there laid the crux of the problem. There was the main reason Elizabeth had been laid awake in bed all morning. Though her sore head and aching body were what trapped her, it was the puzzle that her broken mind could not solve that truly stilled her.

For how had she come to be married to Mr. Darcy? What turn of events had lead to this impossible state of matrimony? Elizabeth had always liked solving puzzles, both those written down in pen and paper and those written in the actions of others, but this was one riddle she could not answer. It did not help that a part of her was still in suspense. Waiting for the punchline, or for her to wake up, or for Darcy to turn round and ask what on earth she was doing in his home. But it had not happened yet, and till it did Elizabeth felt she would not have her answers. For how could the answer be that this was now her reality?

She could not stop herself from trying to put the pieces of the jigsaw together though, even whilst she felt the answer was beyond her reach. She sat up again, slowly this time. The drum in her head was a quiet pitter-patter for the time being. Her muscles were a different story, after her earlier burst of activity where she had been too distracted and scared to notice, they were hosting a very loud protest against all this sudden movement after a week of stillness. Ignoring them as best she could, she shuffled to sit at the side of the bed and examined the room that now belonged to her, hoping it might be able to shed some light on her current situation.

It was, she admitted to herself, a charming room. Elegant without being ostentatious. There was no gilding, no obvious display of wealth like Mr. Collins had so often talked of there being at Rosings. But it was still obviously the room of a rich man. Exactly what she would have expected from Mr. Darcy's home. He was not a man to scream his superiority from the rooftops, he did it without ever even having to say a word to you. Then she wondered how much influence she'd had over the room. The colouring of the beddings and the bed curtains she presumed at least reflected her. But the rest of the room? It did not feel like her choices. No, it felt like Mr. Darcy's. The marble of the fireplace, for example, which did not match with the understated class of the rest of the furnishings. Its sides were carved in a manner that reminded her of the columns of antiquity she had seen in her father's books on the ancient world.

Though Elizabeth had never shared her father's fascination with the Greeks and Romans, he had still spoke of them and their culture to her. He loved to read and critique their philosophy. Elizabeth much more preferred to live in and learn of the present, and consumed the most up to date of ideas whenever her father brought home a new modern book. She had always suspected, since he often brought home a book on ancient philosophy and a contemporary novel, that he was purchasing them just for her, though whenever she teased him for it he insisted he was not an out of touch old man who had no interest in the modern era. Some truth in that perhaps, but still Elizabeth believed they had been purchased for her benefit, and she loved him for it. A sudden overwhelming desire to sit with her father in his library overtook Elizabeth. She wished for Longbourn. For her father's study. For Jane in bed beside her. Even for her mother's shrieks, Kitty and Lydia's fighting over a bonnet, and Mary's playing. She wanted to tell Jane all about the bizarre dream she'd had. What would dear Jane say if she learnt Elizabeth had thought herself married to Mr. Darcy? And her father, no doubt if told the tale he would be ready with a laugh and a quip at Mr. Darcy's expense. She could hear their responses in her head but it wasn't the same. She wanted to be with them. Away from this silly nightmare, this room that was not hers, this unbelievable turn of circumstances. Safely cocooned in the well known comfort of Longbourn's walls.

Her father was well, if Miss. Darcy was to be believed. Elizabeth did not think the girl would have lied to her about such a matter and yet she still worried. For if her father lived and was in good health, what could have made her so desperate she would marry Mr. Darcy? Was it just the potential risk that lay in the future that had caused her to accept him? Mrs. Bennet's often repeated fear that they would all be thrown in the hedgerows after Mr. Bennet died. There was no way her mother would have let Elizabeth refuse another offer. Was that it? Had she finally bowed down to her mother's obsession? Was she just yet another well married daughter of a mercenary match-making mama?

Elizabeth collapsed backwards on to the bed, giving in to both her frustration and the protest of her muscles. I must look like the classic image of the invalid, she thought to herself, unable to leave my bed, propped up on pillows just waiting for the visitors and servants I am reliant on for everything.

The image lingered in Elizabeth's mind. Was that her future? To never walk again. To never see beyond this room. To never leave this bed again. Would she fade out of existence to her friends and family - trapped by her own body in the room of a country manor several counties away from any of her loved ones? No one to visit her but Darcy and his sister and his servants. Or would Darcy and his sister grow tired of visiting a bitter invalid with no love for them? Would she be left forgotten to wilt away on this bed? The servants arguing over whose turn it was to look after poor sick Mrs. Darcy this time. Everyone wishing she would just die already so that the Master could remarry and gain himself a heir.

But surely Mr. Darcy would tell her family of her illness. He could not be so cruel as to not even inform them. Jane would come. Her father - loathed to travel though he was - would come. Her aunt and uncle would come. Those she loved best would come to see her. Even Mama and her younger sisters would come and she was willing to admit that there wasn't always any love lost there.

No, she would not be left to wilt away, she told herself. She would not be an invalid forgotten about in a fine house in Derbyshire. She tried to convince herself that was not to be her fate and yet the image continued to linger.

I must ask what happened to me, she reminded herself, ask what caused this illness and this loss of my memories. Only then could she better understand how long she might be ill.

She tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere so as to force away the disconcerting image of herself. They landed first on the obvious topic of Mr. Darcy, but she had already spent so much of the morning considering how he had ever gotten her to agree to marry him, and why he had wanted to marry her in the first place, and she felt no closer to an answer then she had when her supposed husband had first informed her of the fact of their marriage. Nor did she feel she would be able to provide any answer that satisfied her own sense of self-belief anytime soon.

So with some effort she passed aside the uncomfortable topic of Mr. Darcy for now and turned to the new conundrum of the mystery gentleman who had just invaded her bed chambers and then left just as quickly upon spying that she was awake. Had he been looking for Mr. Darcy or his sister? Who was he exactly? And how many strangers was Elizabeth to endure in her private quarters before the day was over?

At least he did not claim to be my husband, she thought to herself. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all, but any amusement at the situation faded to be replaced with a sickening anxiety as it occurred to her to wonder how the man who did claim to be her husband would react if he were to learn another man had been within the room that only he had the right to enter. The thought did not sit well with Elizabeth. She knew Mr. Darcy to be a proud man and a righteous man. No doubt it would hurt both these aspects of him to learn of this occurrence. But how would he react? Was he a jealous man? Or was he too full of pride of himself to ever consider jealousy towards another man? Would she be treated to more of his cold hateful contempt? Or was he a violent man when angered? Elizabeth had never been witness to violence within a marriage - her parents' marriage was loveless but her father was not a man prone to anger - but she was vaguely aware (through gossip and tall tales) that the laws of England did not offer a wife protection from her husband. She studied once more, as she had done many times this morning, the cuts and bruises on her arms, tracing the outlines with her fingertips. There were similar marks also on her legs and stomach an earlier examination had uncovered. From where had they come? From the same incident, what ever it may be, that had left her temporarily invalided? Or another source entirely? Her husband? Or were the incident and him one and the same?

She thought of the relief on his face when he saw her awake. Of him hugging her close. The gentle kisses to the top of her head. The tears he had made no attempt to hide. Not the actions of a man who hated his wife, Elizabeth thought for what felt like the millionth time that morning. But if he no longer hated her just when had that occurred? How had she ever seen him again? How could he, who was so disdaining of her and all those of her society, have ever come to desire her as a wife? For desire it must have been, a man of his means had his choice of wife. She tried to think when he had ever shown approval towards her in the whole of their previous acquaintance. The Netherfield Ball? He had asked her to dance, a rarity usually only offered to his own party. But then he and Bingley had left. Never to be seen again. (Or not. As current circumstances clearly demonstrated.) Still, if he had admired her back then, he had abandoned her just as easily as Bingley abandoned her sister.

Jane. How did Jane fare? Was she married? Happy? So many questions to ask. The rest of her family? Thriving she hoped, for surely Miss. Darcy would have mentioned otherwise when she told Elizabeth of her father. Or had Mr. Darcy's anger distracted them both before any other news could be shared?

She remembered the look of anger on Mr. Darcy's face. Disapproving. Severe. His disgust with her for her truthful answer to his question. Fear curdled once more in her stomach. She traced a cut down her wrist. The slight pain was nothing compared to the ache of her head and the earlier protest of her battered body at her movements. Where from these illness? Mr. Darcy? Too cold for such anger. She thought of kisses and tears. Or perhaps not so cold. Guilty conscience? Or simple relief?

Love?

But how so?

Mr. Darcy in love with her? Was it possible? If he was then what did it mean?

"Love is a poweful tool, my Lizzy. It can bring to people a joy previously unimagined. But it can also, such as here, have the power to destroy and wreck havoc. Passion is the most common cause of most wrongs. That a man, or a woman, acted for love, and caused great grief for all." Her father, discussing Shakespeare's great tragedy. Romeo and Juliet. She wondered, at the time, if he had ever loved her mother? Was this him warning her off the notion of love, for it could so quickly turn sour? She had not listened. Set her heart on marrying for love anyway.

See how that turned out, she chided herself. For whether Mr. Darcy loved her or not, she knew she could never love him. Preposterous! Love a man who cared not for the misery of others? Never.

Then how had she arrived here? For that she still had no answer. She could feel the drumbeat in her head building up again. Drum. Drum. But she couldn't sleep. Not with so many questions driving her to distraction. She was regretting sending Darcy and his sister away. She had felt suffocated in their presence. By their concern and its strangeness. Then she had wished to escape Darcy's anger at her truthfulness. But whilst an empty room had left her with space to think and try to process what was happening, all she had were questions with no answers.

She did not regret sending the strange man away though. Heavens knows, which, if any, of her questions he could have answered. Such an unusual encounter that it stood out even on such an unusual morning. For why would any man feel so comfortable entering her bed chambers? Especially one who wasn't claiming to be her husband. Had he been here before then? At her request? But no. Elizabeth could not imagine that of herself, even if she did hate her husband. Then again, she would never have imagined herself marrying Mr. Darcy, so what did she know of herself.

I will explain it to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth told herself, trying to calm her uncharacteristically nervous disposition. I have done nothing wrong, even a man such as him has to see that.

Not done any wrong that you know of. The thought entered her mind unbidden. She lightly pressed one of the bruises. Had she earned them in the eyes of her husband and society?

I have done no wrong, she reminded herself. I would have done no such thing. I have no reason to fear.

But even after this call within herself to strength, Elizabeth still startled when the knock on the door rang through the room.

"Who is it?" she called, relieved when she managed to keep her voice from shaking.

"Georgiana."

"Oh! I mean, please, come in." A visit from Darcy's sister was the last thing she had expected, but it would do her no harm to find out more about this woman she now called sister, and to see if from her she could learn more about her husband, and how her marriage had come to be. To try and dispel some of the fears gnawing at her sanity.

Miss. Darcy glanced at her in concern as she entered the room. "I came to apologise on my cousin's behalf for the fright he gave you earlier," she explained as she sat down in the same seat Elizabeth had woken her from during the night. Elizabeth tried to arise to sit up in the bed but Miss. Darcy waved her down again and Elizabeth consented with relief to the action."Edward has been a great comfort to us during your sickness. He had gotten use to this being a sick chamber, and Fitzwilliam always being here by your side."

Such a simple explanation. Yet such relief Elizabeth felt to be proved right in her belief in herself. Never had she questioned her own character so badly, yet never had she been left in so much doubt of her own actions. The blank space of her memories taunted her. And though it had been confirmed that she was right to have faith in herself in this regard, so many questions were still left in relation to her own actions on other matters that she still felt like she no longer understood her own character.

She revealed none of this inner turmoil to Miss. Darcy though. She knew not enough about her or her character to feel safe in confiding with her. Though the little she had seen had painted Miss. Darcy as a loving, compassionate soul she was still Mr. Darcy's sister. Her loyalty would no doubt lie there. And who knew which of Mr. Darcy's traits she might be hiding.

At least Elizabeth hoped her relieved reaction was not too plain on her face. She was not a talented actress, not often one to hide behind false sweetness like some 'accomplished' women she could think of.

Instead she stuck to simple questions, "Fitzwilliam. That is Mr. Darcy? And Edward is your cousin? The man who was here earlier?"

"Yes. Though I should warn you it may get confusing. My brother was named after our mother's maiden name, you see. So he is Fitzwilliam Darcy and our cousin is Edward Fitzwilliam."

"I shall have to-" Elizabeth stopped herself mid-sentence. Georgiana gave her a look that encouraged her to finish her sentence, but Elizabeth shook her head in polite refusal. She had been going to say 'I shall have to endure to tell the difference between the two.' But remembering her earlier thoughts on the possibility of her husband's jealousy she had stopped herself, in case he ever learnt of the quip and misconstrued it. Even if she was now sure he had nothing to be jealous of she knew that might not be enough to stop his jealousy.

It made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin to act so though. She did not usually hold back on her quips, and definitely not for the likes of Mr. Darcy. In fact, in their short acquaintance - or at least what she could remember of it - she had always tried to provoke him as much as possible. But the circumstance were so very different now, she reminded herself.

"Have to do what exactly?" Georgiana prompted.

"Nothing of importance, Miss. Darcy." Elizabeth forced a small smile.

"You can call me Georgiana, if you wish. We are sisters now, though I know the idea is foreign to you at this present moment. And I do apologise if me calling you by your Christian name has offended you. It is just a habit I am finding difficult to break."

"There is no need to apologise for having said what is natural to you, and which I presume, owing to the fact you are so comfortable in calling me so, I have previously given you permission to say. And besides, I believe you were even calling me by the shortened version of my Christian name and I know that is reserved for only my family and dearest friends. Thereby there is only one assumption I can make." Here Elizabeth's smile was more genuine. As her new sister spoke she was quickly forming the notion that she should withheld her doubt of Georgiana's character for now. For she had never met Georgiana before today, and though she remembered Wickham's comments on Georgiana's pride, she herself had see no evidence of it, and she was willing to judge her on her actions of the day. Beside hating both Mr. Darcy and his sister was too much effort, at least whilst the sister continued to show none of her brother's character. Perhaps his rightful anger at the brother had tainted Wickham's perspective of the sister's character. Elizabeth determined to make her own study and so far Georgiana had shown nothing more towards her than sisterly concern.

"I am happy to hear you say that," Georgiana confided. "I know it was always Fitzwilliam's dearest wish that we would be the closest of sisters." She hesitated a few moments before continuing, "I hope you will not mind if a voice the opinion that before this accident that was what we were, and I would want nothing more than for us to be again."

"I would like that too, Georgiana, but you must understand I can not force an affection built over … months? Years? How long have I been married?"

"Just over a year. You and Fitzwilliam shared a joint ceremony with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. It was the most beautiful day. I have never seen Fitzwilliam smile quite like he did when he saw you walking down the aisle towards him." Georgiana was smiling to herself, lost in the memories of a day Elizabeth would have given anything to remember. What had she been thinking, as she walked down the aisle with her father and her sister to a smiling Mr. Darcy? If indeed it was her sister she had shared her wedding day with. For she could think of no other woman she would willingly share her wedding with, yet perhaps Mr. Darcy had asked her to share with whoever Mr. Bingley's bride had been. After all, Mr. Bingley had quite dashed her sister's hopes.

"Mrs. Bingley?"

"Oh! Yes, you will not know. I am sorry, Lizzy, it will take some getting used to all you don't recall. But Mrs. Bingley is dear Jane, of course."

"Jane is happy?" Could this be true? In this bizarre future of hers could her dearest sister have been given her wish? Elizabeth could find a little peace in whatever had happened to come to that conclusion.

"Very much so. She is currently in confinement in Netherfield or she would have been here herself to tell you that."

"Confinement? Jane is to have a child? What a weird but wondrous thought. She will make the most excellent mother." Elizabeth's smile was the widest it had been since she awoke. Georgiana's smile, on the other hand, looked pained, and Elizabeth could not help but wonder why. Another mystery. Though had not Miss. Bingley expressed an interest in a match between Georgiana and her brother?

"She will." Whatever unexplained misery the thought caused her, Georgiana managed to sound convincingly happy as she said that statement. "I am sure you and Fitzwilliam will travel to see her as soon as you are well." If I get well, Elizabeth thought despairingly. Which reminded her of a pressing question.

"Georgiana, what happened to me? Why am I bedridden? Why have I lost my memories?"

"There was an accident. You slipped. It sounds so simplistic but it's true."

"I never slip," Elizabeth argued. She was a strong walker. That was a fact she was confident about no matter what other doubts she was currently having about her own character.

Georgiana shrugged. Not a particularly ladylike gesture but one Lizzy was prone to herself, her mother had been forever scolding her. Had Georgiana learnt it from herself? She could not imagine Mr. Darcy approving. "It had been raining during the night. Fitzwilliam did advise you it would be muddy." Elizabeth thought she heard a touch of reproof in the last sentence. A hint of her brother in Georgiana's speech.

"I can't imagine I always listen to Mr. Darcy's advice." Or ever, Elizabeth added in her mind.

"No. You do not." Georgiana seemed more puzzled by this notion than anything.

"And you do?"

"Of course." Elizabeth, who had been teasing, was taken back by Georgiana's earnest. "He is the best of brothers, and always knows what's best for me." A pause "Even when I do not." Georgiana glanced down in shame, blotches of red staining her pale cheeks. There was a story behind that last statement. Elizabeth wondered if she had known it. In her sketch of Georgiana's character Elizabeth tried to find a way to place the fact that she hero-worshipped her brother alongside everything else Elizabeth had observed of her, for what did that fact say of her? To think so highly of a man who seemed in many ways to be her opposite. What also did it say of Mr. Darcy that this sweet girl saw him as the most perfect of people? Elizabeth was questioning her idea of both their characters - for she could not have Georgiana as caring and compassionate yet have her looking up to a prideful and derisive Mr. Darcy. For once Elizabeth was not enjoying her character sketching. It was usually much easier than this. People were not usually so complicated.

Confused, she started to test Georgiana a little more."He can not always know what's best, I am sure. He is still only a man, and all men are fallible." She had expected Georgiana to be startled or angered by this statement. Instead she laughed.

"You sound like yourself, Elizabeth," she said in answer to Elizabeth's querying look. "Though such a statement in any other situation would make little sense, I admit. But what I mean is you sound like yourself before the accident. You were always encouraging me to think for myself and separately from my brother." Elizabeth stored that information away for later to be examined in more detail. Just what influence had she been trying to exert on Darcy's sister? Why would she wish for such changes in the relationship of the Darcy siblings. No doubt part of it was simply to help loosen Darcy's iron grip on his sister's decisions, for no one should have to live under such force in regards to their own life. But had she been trying to gain an ally against her husband? For no doubt at the moment Georgiana would side with her brother every time. Had Elizabeth been trying to change that? And what did it say of the state of her marriage that she had turned into that kind of plotting shrew wife? Was this what she had been lowered to by the unfortunate choice of marriage she had made?

"Was I? To be honest I can see myself saying so." She sighed. "This lack of knowledge of my own life is infuriating. I wish I knew what had caused it."

Georgiana bit her lip nervously. Another un-ladylike habit she had learnt from Elizabeth? "That I can not answer. I only hope the doctor might be able to when he arrives. He should be here any time now for we sent for him before breaking our fasts. It was as good as dawn."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding of Georgiana's lack of an answer.

"I truly slipped?"

"There is a favourite spot of both yourself and Fitzwilliam in the woods to the far east of Pemberley's ground. My father used to call it the fairy's mount. It's one of the more wild parts of the ground, which is why you both adore it. But it's makes the terrain worse, and there's one steep hillside."

"Which of course I had to insist of climbing." Less of a quip and more an irritated acceptance of her own faults.

"Indeed. You lost your footing halfway to the top. Rolled and fell a good three hundred yards. Until you hit the rocks at the hill's base." Georgiana's word dulled on that last sentence. Elizabeth tried to picture the accident Georgiana described but once more was greeted with nothing more than blankness and dull pain. But it explained her head injury and the bruises. She almost laughed out loud at the simple domesticity of the truth compared to the horrors she had been imagining. Though it was a horror in its own way. To be have gone for a walk and to have slipped and fell so violently that she injured her head so badly she lost her memories. It explained some of Darcy and his sister's intense reactions when she woke up. To have their idea of normality snatched from their fingertips in a few short seconds could not have been easy. One missed step was all it had took to completely change all their worlds.

"Fitzwilliam thinks you might have seen something before you fell. That something surprised you."

"Does he have any theories as to what that might have been?"

Another of those un-ladylike shrugs. Elizabeth tried to think what she might have seen that would cause her to be so distracted that she would lose her usually so secure footing. She massaged her forehead as though it could both dull her headache and force her memories back to life. Georgiana watched on in concern.

"Do you think the doctor will have a treatment for my memory loss?" Elizabeth asked her.

"I do not know. I pray he does. I can only imagine how unsettling it must be to have lost such cherished memories, and you must know I will try to help you in any way I can."

"What do you know of what I have forgotten?"

Here Georgiana studied her hands and hesitated before answering. "I know bits and pieces, but I can not help but feel I should leave it to Fitzwilliam to tell you the story. For he is the only one, your own missing memories aside, who knows all of what had occurred between the two of you. And I would not like to speculate, especially not to yourself to whom the events are so central to your life and who both you and my brother have become. Besides I am sure Fitzwilliam would prefer to tell you himself. It is your story after all, the two of you. I am just an onlooker, and one you have both protected from the worst truths. An act of love I know and I do not complain, but it does make me ill-suited as the person to try and help piece together your memories. I am sorry I can not help, Lizzy." Her eyes flitted between her hands and Elizabeth's face as she spoke. It was clear to Elizabeth she felt a great anxiety over giving such a disappointing answer.

"Of course, that makes perfect sense. Please do not fret, Georgiana. You are correct in saying that Mr. Darcy is the only person who can truly answer all my questions." Much as Elizabeth didn't like it she could see the truth in Georgiana's answer. It was not a conversation she was looking forward to but one she knew she would have to face. No time like the present, she thought. "Thank you for your help, Georgiana, I greatly appreciate it. But do you think you could fetch your brother for me. It would appear me and him have a lot to discuss."

Georgiana jumped out of her seat with renewed energy at such a request. "Of course," she replied, not quite succeeding in hiding her pleased grin. She left the room in a manner more hurried than graceful, leaving Elizabeth to wonder how she was ever to begin such a conversation. She considered that her first matter of discussion should be an apology for saying she would have only married Darcy in desperation if her father died. But it was truthfully what she had believed and she would never apologise for speaking the truth.

But, she told herself, I should go into such a conversation with an open mind. Nothing would be achieved if she continued to spit venom at Mr. Darcy at every turn, especially when she no longer was certain if it was deserved or not. She had decided she would try to sketch Georgiana's character anew, perhaps it would be wisest to do so with Mr. Darcy also. For though she had seen glimpses of the cold man she had remembered she had also - remembering kisses and whispered endearments - seen a side of Mr. Darcy she would not have thought existed. If she was going to learn to live with and understand her new situation in life, she was going to have to try and see all there was to Fitzwilliam Darcy, good and bad.

An open mind, she told herself as she heard footsteps approaching. Forget your prejudices and focus on what you see in the present.

A knock on the door. Elizabeth sat up and fortified herself for the conversation to follow.

"Come in," she called.

It was time to learn the truth. Who was Fitzwilliam Darcy? And who was Elizabeth Darcy, this woman she had become?


	6. A Conversation: Part I

**Chapter 6 - A Conversation: Part I**

Darcy was walking with the doctor to Elizabeth's room when Georgiana rounded a corner and nearly ran into him in her haste.

"Oh! Brother! Elizabeth wishes to speak with you."

Darcy could not help but smile at this, the hope shining in Georgiana's eyes was contagious. Whatever Elizabeth wished to say to him, it was clear his sister thought that it was good news.

"As luck would have it I am accompanying Dr. Smith to her chambers."

Here Georgiana turned to the doctor, a red flush creeping across her face as she noticed his presence for the first time, overlooked in her earlier excitement. "My apologies, Dr. Smith, I did not see you there," she said with a slight courtesy.

Dr. Smith bowed in return. "No apologies are necessary, Miss. Darcy. Your excitement at Mrs. Darcy's recovery is most understandable."

"Mrs. Annesley is in the parlour, I believe, Georgiana," Darcy told her to give his embarrassed sister an excuse to escape. With a quick goodbye Georgiana scurried off as swiftly as she had arrived, still a bundle of excited energy.

"Your sister's exhilaration would suggest good tidings, sir." And despite himself, Darcy found himself beginning to hope.

Elizabeth looked over nervously when the pair of them entered the room, and Darcy saw her brow furrow in confusion when she saw the doctor. So he had hoped in vain. Dr. Smith was clearly as a stranger to her, and he felt the full force of disappointment hit him. Despite his earlier promise to Georgiana he tried his hardest to keep his face neutral, for this was one reaction it was definitely wiser for his wife not to see.

"This is Dr. Smith, Elizabeth. He is the local doctor from Lambton, but he has the care of Pemberley's residents too."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, doctor."

Thankfully Darcy had already explained Elizabeth's memory loss to Dr. Smith or no doubt he would have acted more surprised to be introduced to a woman he had met - and treated - on several occasions. Any surprise he did feel he hid well.

"I am glad to see you awake, Mrs. Darcy. Now if I may I will need to examine your head wound." Here he looked towards Darcy, who gave a nod of permission. Elizabeth was quiet as he carefully removed the bandages to examine the cut to her head. Darcy saw her face twitch in pain despite her best attempt at stoicism, but he fought the desire to take her hand in comfort, certain that it would have the opposite effect. Instead he stood as silent as his wife, watching the doctor work.

The wound on Elizabeth's head looked a lot less severe than he recalled from the day she had fallen, and he remembered the doctor's comments of that day that head wounds bled copiously and made matters appear much worse than the reality. Darcy had ignored those comments then, thinking them words of empty comfort and little meaning, but looking with more focused eyes upon the wound he understood. It was the size of a small knife cut, hard to believe so much blood had bled from such a small cut.

"The wound has healed cleanly. I will change your bandages to continue to keep it clean but aside from that the best remedy is time. Your body will heal itself. The same stands for the cuts and bruises upon your person, Mrs. Darcy." The doctor turned to get more bandages from his medical bag.

"And my memory, doctor? Do you know what may have caused this loss of my memories?"

Dr. Smith straightened up from his bag. He hesitated for a few moments before answering. "It is hard to say, Mrs. Darcy. Amnesia is not a topic upon which the medical community has made many strides, if I am to be honest. It could just be a side effect of the bump to the head. The problem with head injuries is that they are very unpredictable."

"So what is our best chance of helping to restore Elizabeth's memories?" Darcy asked, dreading a correction. To be told there was no chance.

"Are you suffering from headaches at all, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Now and then, though they are receding."

'In which case I'd advise that your best hope is to treat it like a normal head injury. As your headaches are bearable I would avoid the use of laudanum as long as possible. You should have plenty of rest but try to take some gentle exercise outside at least once a day when possible, even if it is just five minutes walking by the side of the house. Avoid reading for any length of time or any activity that will strain your mind. Nothing too taxing." He turned towards Darcy. "I would advise discussing what Mrs. Darcy can not remember in the hope of triggering a recollection but you must be careful." He turned his attention back to Elizabeth. "If thinking on such matters should cause any headaches or make them worse, Mrs. Darcy, then I would advise you stop immediately." The moment the doctor said it Darcy knew Elizabeth would disregard that last part of advice. "I can make no guarantees, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, but the best chance of regaining Mrs. Darcy's memories lays with allowing her mind to fix itself."

"What if my memories never return?" The question hung in the air as neither Darcy nor the doctor knew how to answer. "I am sorry. That is not a medical issue. I should not have asked."

"No need to apologise, Mrs. Darcy. I understand this must be very frustrating for you and wish there was more I could do." He turned to Darcy. "I shall return tomorrow if that is acceptable? With it being a head wound I would like to keep a close watch for the first week."

"Of course," Darcy agreed. "Thank you, doctor."

"I shall see myself out, shall I?" Darcy nodded and the doctor left the room with a bow. Taking a seat in the chair that had been his constant watching post during the last week, Darcy turned to his wife.

"Georgiana said you wished to speak with me."

"I wish to understand, Mr. Darcy, want circumstances have lead to our present situation. And it would appear the doctor is in agreement with me. For I can not begin to reconcile myself to the life I now live until I at least learn how I came to be here. "

"I understand, and of course, I am more than happy to oblige. Though if I may first, I owe you an apology. I can only humbly beg forgiveness for my actions during our last conversation. I have a habit, that I have spent the last year and a half - since you first brought it to my attention - trying to correct, that of being too taciturn in my words and motions, of not realizing how my actions have come across to those watching."

"You say I brought this fact to your attention?"

"You did. And I thank you for it. But I forgot myself. I was cold when we spoke earlier, and it was undeserved on your part. You hold no blame for this unprecedented loss of your memories, and I am the one with the knowledge of who we are, and who we were, and how we bridged that gap. You told me you remembered nothing from after myself and Bingley retreated to London after the Netherfield Ball and knowing how you felt and what you thought of me at that time I should have expected nothing less than your response."

"You know how I felt at that time, sir?" Elizabeth could not hide her shock.

"You told me. Quite vocally. As you had every right to do. I was the worst of fools."

"Come, Mr. Darcy, I have believed you to be many things. But foolish was never one of them."

"Oh, but I was, my d-, Mrs. Dar-, Miss. Bennet?" Darcy's voice trailed of as he tried to figure out which turn of address would least offend her.

"Mrs. Darcy is fine. Or Elizabeth." The but not 'my dear' was unspoken but Darcy heard it nonetheless.

"But I was, Mrs. Darcy." Just having her allow him to call her by his name was a glimmer of hope to Darcy. "I was. The very worst of fools. But I am telling this story all crooked. I have no wish to make this more confusing than it must already be for you."

Elizabeth gave a bemused smile. "It will be confusing no matter how you tell it, Mr. Darcy. But I appreciate the concern." She bowed her head in gratitude and Darcy realized just how much effort it must have been for her to keep this calm. He was not sure if this was a cause for hope or despair. Hope because she was trying. Despair because he could not live with a merely civil Elizabeth, not after the joy of knowing one who had loved him and teased him and made him laugh.

"Do you think it will be easier for you if I keep it simpler for now? Or would you like the full story regardless?"

"The full story, I think. Anything less will just leave me more curious. No doubt I will struggle to comprehend most of what you say, but I would rather be left with all the facts to pierce together than be left making guesses based on half-truths and an incomplete story. Promise to tell me everything, Mr. Darcy? The whole truth?" Darcy felt like her request was almost a challenge.

"Understandable. And, of course I will. Shall I start from the beginning?"

"Does seem the most logical place." Darcy could not help but smile at this slight hint of her usual self.

"You smile, sir? I do believe that is the first time I've seen you smile." Before he could reply she added, "That I can remember that is."

"I have smiled more in the last year than I think I have in the previous decade put together. All your doing I assure you, my de-, Mrs. Darcy." She looked down uncomfortably, a red blush across her cheeks, at his compliments, fiddling with the bed spread under her hands. Too much too soon, he told himself. The fact that he could not seem to prevent the now almost automatic 'my dear' as his term for address when speaking to her privately did not help with that issue.

"But now I suppose I should begin." Darcy paused, wondering how best to start. From the beginning, he had said. Which was the Meryton Assembly. His insides squirmed with shame at the thought. Instead he realized what the first thing he wanted to tell her was, the one thing he did not want to leave her in suspense over. He looked at her still studying her hands as they traced the pattern on the bedspread and realized that this was a truth that would only make her more uncomfortable. And yet he felt the need to say it now, for he would have to tell her eventually, and he was so desperate for her to know. It would astound her no matter when she learned so Darcy saw no reason to wait.

"I will try my best to explain everything in due time, Elizabeth. But there is something you must know first, and past experience has taught me that this will shock you. You say it is logical to start at the beginning, yet I can think of no other way to tell this tale then to begin with the ending. Which is that I love you, most ardently, Elizabeth Darcy, more than I ever thought I could love a woman." Elizabeth stared at him in shock. Eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. Mouth hanging open. Stunned into silence - for once without a rejoinder. "I do not expect a response. But that is the backbone of the story you wish to hear, a fact that will be persistent throughout, and if you disbelieve everything that I am about to tell you I ask that you believe that fact at least." Elizabeth still continued to stare at him like he was a creature from another world come to visit her, but Darcy had expected nothing more. He would have been delighted had she responded to his declaration in kind but that she had not did not astonish or offend him. For, this time, he had known what he was setting himself up against.

"I want to believe you, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's words were a soft whisper. "But I can not help but wonder how such a momentous event ever came to be. Can you tell me our story now, sir?" She had not disparaged his words out right and Darcy took that as a good sign.

"It starts, as I believe you recall, when I attended the Meryton assembly with Bingley and his sisters." Elizabeth nodded in agreement about her recollection, but her slight frown at the memory would have told him just the same. "My actions that night are not a memory I am proud of. I did not look at you when I made my comment to Bingley. You could have been any girl there and I would have made a similar remark. Yes, I know that does not make it better." Elizabeth closed her mouth as Darcy acknowledged the comment he was sure she had been about to make. "I have never been comfortable in large social gatherings, and I had matters on my mind that night which distracted me further."

"Matters?"

"Family matters. As they come up later in the story, I will discuss them in due course. It is an event I only wish to discuss once."

Elizabeth nodded acceptance. "Carry on with your story then, sir. I believe we had reached the point where you were making exc- where we were discussing the Meryton assembly." Darcy noted the mid-sentence switch as another attempt to be conciliatory.

"I was making excuses. I will not deny it. Do not feel the need to hold you opinions back on my behalf, Elizabeth. If I had not wanted an opinionated wife then I would not have married you."

Elizabeth laughed, a fact that gladdened Darcy's heart. He could still make her laugh. "That is reassuring to know, sir."

"I can only apologise for what I said that night. It has long since been that I have considered you one of the most handsome woman of my acquaintance."

"I should hope so, all matters considered." It took Darcy a few seconds to realise she was teasing him. And how he had missed that.

"You jest, Elizabeth, but beautiful though you are, and I have a particular admiration for those fine glittering eyes of yours, it the intelligence that lies beneath them that truly made me love you." He wanted to reach out to cup her face in her hands, to kiss her forehead, her lips, but he refrained as he watched her process his words.

"That is greater to hear than any compliments of my looks could ever be," she admitted in a quiet voice that only increased Darcy's desire to hold her close.

"You were different to the giggling debutantes who usually fought for my affection. You did not hang to my every word, shower me with endless compliments. You challenged me, made me rethink who I was and who it was that I wanted to be. But that last part comes later in this story." The questions in Elizabeth's glinting green eyes did not go away at his last statement. " I am getting ahead of myself again, let me finish first with what you do remember, as there is still much to clarify in regards to those memories you have. Explanations and discussions that I have occurred between now and then that I will try to recount you as best as I can. For you see, after that assembly, once I was properly introduced to you, you thought I continued to hate you, but the truth is, Elizabeth, you fascinated me. For all the reasons I listed earlier. You did not flatter me with empty compliments, you were willing to argue and tease me, and even though I know now that those actions were fuelled by hatred, it does not change the fact that you looked past my name and my monetary value. I found myself watching you when we were in company together, and you asked intelligent questions, kept yourself above the falsely courteous behaviour of Miss. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, showed great joy in the company of friends and loved ones, as well as a tender concern for a sick sister."

" You did not stare to disapprove then, sir?"

"The very opposite. Though I told myself I should stop observing you heavily. I knew others were spotting my attachment."

"Miss. Bingley?"

"Indeed. Miss. Bingley had great hopes on an attachment between myself and her. I did every action possible whilst avoiding impoliteness to disabuse her of the notion but to little avail. I knew from her increasingly cold behaviour that she was suspicious of my motives towards you. But I could not stop myself from falling for you, and I will admit I tried."

Elizabeth looked at him, questioning. "What made you try and hide your sentiments from me?" Before he could answer she continued, as if a thought had just struck her. "Were you were aware of my own negative thoughts on your character?" She asked the question with just the slightest hesitance, and Darcy could not decide if that was a good sign or not.

"No, I had no idea of the intensity of your dislike for me. In fact I worried that if I showed you too much favour I might unintentionally raise your hopes." Elizabeth looked at him in disbelief, but kept her opinions on that idea to herself, perhaps she had already realized he knew her feelings on the subject, considering she knew he was aware of her former hatred.

Darcy hesitated before answering the first of her questions, remembering Elizabeth after his first proposal. She had not taken it as a compliment that he loved her despite her lowly status and her family's impropriety. He certainly did not what to make the same mistake again. Yet he could not lie to her.

"I was too aware of the reasons that you were an inappropriate woman for my affection to fall upon. That I could not make you my wife, and my own morals, which I was sure your own would be in line with, meant I could not make you anything other either." He knew the last part was overly honest as soon as he said it. For Elizabeth looked confused and he had to remind himself that this was a young woman who was still in mind an innocent maiden.

"Yet here I am: Mrs. Darcy."

"Here you are. My wonderful wife. Whatever misapprehensions I may have had back then, please never doubt that I am glad I overcame them."

"May I ask what they were?" When Darcy hesitated she prompted him. "Your misapprehensions that is, sir."

"For the sake of honesty I will tell you, though past experience has taught me that it is not a topic that endears me to you."

"I will try to bear in mind that you are insulting me, for I presume that is what is about to occur, at my own request."

"Not you so much, Elizabeth, as, well... I had two major reasons that I rejected the very notion that I could be forming any kind of attachment to you. I shall be blunt about them, both so that this piece can be said quicker and so I can be assured I am not disguising, intentionally or not, any of my thoughts from you, for I abhor any kind of disguise. My first issue was the difference in our stations."

"But, sir, you are a gentleman and I am gentleman's daughter!" Darcy could not help but smile at that, which prompted a inquisitive look from her.

"That is not the first time you have made that observation."

"Why am I not surprised to learn that?" she joked. "When else have I said it?"

"You shall find out but I do not want to ruin it, it is one of my favourite parts of the story. One of your more quintessentially Elizabeth Bennet moments."

"Well, sir, I had thought I could not get more curious and yet I find I am. I must demand you continue!" Another one of those teasing smiles he had missed so.

"Where was I?"

"Umm… you were listing the reasons I am not a suitable wife for you." Darcy tried to figure out if that was a tease or not.

"You most certainly are a suitable wife for me. No one could ever be more suitable. But, as I have admitted, there was a point where I had my doubts. So firstly, though you are correct in saying I am a gentleman and you a gentleman's daughter, I also know you are aware of the differences that split us even in such seemingly similar circumstances." Here Elizabeth nodded but did not speak and Darcy decided to continue onwards without dwelling on the matter, for that, he knew, would be the very definition of counter-productive. "Secondly, I felt too heavily the impropriety of your family."

"You dislike my family?" Elizabeth was looking at him fearfully. She had been leaning in towards him to listen as he spoke, but now she recoiled away. "Is that why they are not here? I mean Georgiana said it was because of Jane but perhaps, I mean, she does not know the full truth. Sir, have you? Did you?" She was babbling now but Darcy knew he did not have long before the shock would reside, causing the dam to break and leaving him facing the full tide of her anger.

"Georgiana spoke true. I informed your father and Jane immediately after your fall and received replies asking to be informed immediately of any changes or recovery to your health. I sent an express earlier today after you awoke and imagine you will receive a response from Jane within a day or two unless the arrival of our niece or nephew causes her a rather excusable distraction. I do not dislike your family, Elizabeth. They are my family too, now, and welcome at Pemberley at any time. But when I first met them I was rather taken back at times by their occasional impropriety. I have learned since then to look beyond that, or at least to be accepting of it as the price I must pay to have you as my wife."

"I wish to argue with you, Mr. Darcy, I must admit. But I shall not, not only because I am trying to make peace, but because I cannot deny I am aware of my family's failings at times, though I love them."

"That is as it should be. And I promise you as soon as you are well enough to travel we will travel to Hertfordshire to see Jane and her babe once he or she are born." Without thinking he took Elizabeth's hand in his own, stroking his thumb across the back. He felt her hand relax in his and looked at her face. He could see no sign of protest and so he laced his fingers with hers.

"You will tell me - will you not, Elizabeth? - if any of my actions of affections are distressing for you. I will admit I do them so naturally now that I am struggling to stop myself. But I have no desire to discomfort you."

"I assure you, Mr. Darcy, I would not hesitate to tell you." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "But I do not mind this." She held up their joined hands. "It's comforting, in a way." She bit her lip and Darcy knew she on the cusp of saying something important. "May I make an observation, sir? Regarding your good self?" Darcy nodded, curiosity peaked. "I have spent most of this morning trying to understand how and why I could have ended up married to you. I thought that there was no possible reasonable explanation. And though we have not even reached beyond the points of this tale that I can recall, I think I am beginning to understand. From even this small conversation I began to see that you might not be the man I thought you were. It gives me hope - that what follows will be a story that truly makes me believe that I did not betray myself or my character."

"I am glad to hear you say that. For the next part does not paint a good picture of me. Though it should leave you in no doubts of your own character, if your own motives are what you question." Another querying look from Elizabeth. "But I am getting ahead of myself again."

"We had reached the point where you and Mr. Bingley left for London." Darcy did not miss the hardening of the voice that had spoken so sweetly only a second before. But her hand did not move under his. "Miss. Bingley sent a letter implying that she had hopes of a match between her brother and your sister, and of such a match spurning a similar attachment between yourselves."

"No such hope ever existed expect in Miss. Bingley's mind, on both counts."

"Then why did Mr. Bingley retire to London? It can not be through lack of attachment to my sister given her current circumstance. Was is merely Miss. Bingley's venom that kept him away?"

"It was not Miss. Bingley alone that persuaded him away, I must confess it was my doing too." Before he could continue with his explanation Elizabeth jerked her hand out of his, shuffling along the bed away from him, her face full of fury.

"You pulled them apart! What right did you have to meddle in matters not your own? Did you see my sister as below Mr. Bingley too, as you see myself below you?" Elizabeth was stood up at the other side of the bed now, her hands balled into fists at her side.

"I must admit there was selfishness in my actions. But-"

Elizabeth scoffed. "You do surprise me." Her voice oozed sarcasm. Darcy felt all his happiness at her more friendly behaviour draining away as he scrambled to explain himself.

"But I did it mainly because I worried that Jane did not share his affection."

Another scoff. "What do you know of Jane and her affection? Did you even bother to speak two words to her before ruining her life?" Elizabeth had clearly forgotten what she had been told of the future, her broken mind tripped in what she could remember.

"Jane's life is not ruined, Elizabeth. Her and Bingley will have a babe any day now," he reminded her. He saw her relax, just a smidgeon, though her hands were still tight balls at her side, and her eyes were still screwed up in a glare with the full force of her hatred behind it. Darcy did not love her eyes when they were so cold, lacking his beloved sparkle.

"No thanks to you." Elizabeth's words were still cold, but she sat down on the bed again, sitting on top of the blankets with her legs tucked under the skirts of her nightdress. The opposite side to him, he could not help but notice.

"You are right. I should not have made such a large decision for them, it was clouded by my own desire to distance myself from the delightful torment of your company."

"Now there's a compliment every girl wants to hear." Not sure if said in anger or a tease, Darcy choose to act as though he had not heard her comment.

"But I was genuinely worried about Bingley. He had a habit of thinking himself in love with a different woman every month. I have rescued from many a scrap."

"Or maybe you only think you rescued him, when really you broke many good women's hearts."

"I concede your point, Elizabeth. But if you were to meet the acquaintance of some of them then I think you may concede mine, some of the most obviously mercenary women I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Did you think Jane mercenary?"

"Not Jane, no, but your mother. Jane I merely thought obedient."

"You thought she would marry Mr. Bingley to please our mother?"

"And save your family from destitution. Women have married much worse men than Mr. Bingley for such a reason. I thought behind your sister's serene complexion that she might have been relieved to find such a genial man as the man that she would have to marry for her family's protection. I did not see her in love. I wanted to protect Bingley."

"That intention I can admit may have some nobility behind it, but it does not change that you meddled in business not your own like some gossiping goodwife." The comparison did not sit well with Darcy, to be compared to the very type of women he so disliked. He had not considered it from that angle before now. "Yet they are married now. Did they come to that conclusion on their own or did you meddle again, Sir Gossip?" Darcy had the vaguest feeling Elizabeth knew exactly how he felt about that comparison.

"I informed Bingley that I had reason to believe I had been mistaken in Miss. Bennet's lack of regard. He was the angriest I have ever witnessed him. I truly thought I might have lost one of my closest friends. But Bingley is not a man to fume for long. He asked me to accompany him back to Hertfordshire and from there I left him and Miss. Bennet to come to their own conclusions."

"You corrected your mistake." Elizabeth sounded almost wondrous as that. Darcy wondered why and then remembered that she had once thought him too proud to ever admit to a mistake. "But how did you suddenly become aware that you had been incorrect about Jane's feeling?"

"You told me. You see a few months after I left Netherfield. Myself and my cousin Edward, I think you met Edward earlier, in a fashion."

"I did, yes, though I would not exactly call it a meeting. Georgiana came to apologise of his behalf. I had no idea, you see." The last words came out in a hurried rush.

"Let me also apologise on Edward's behalf, for he had not learnt that you had awoken or that you were alone." Darcy did not understand why Elizabeth smiled in what looked like relief at these words.

"So Georgiana said. So what were yourself and your cousin doing in the story?"

"We had travelled to Kent to visit our Aunt Catherine at Rosings."

"Mr. Collins' patron? She sounds like a, um, interesting character. She is all that is perfect and wisdom according to my cousin." Elizabeth's derision was clear to hear.

"Well, there myself and your cousin disagree. I hate to speak ill of my family, but Aunt Catherine makes it astonishingly difficult not to do so. She is a stubborn lady, who believes herself the authority on every subject."

"No doubt that is why she employs a parson like Mr. Collins." Elizabeth scrunched up her face in thought. "Mr. Darcy I am just recalling something our cousin mentioned to us. About you. And your cousin?"

"My supposed betrothal to Anne? My aunt has long insisted that such a betrothal existed. That it was my mother's dearest wish. But my mother never mentioned it to me when she lived. Nor my father. And my uncle - my mother and Lady Catherine's brother - tells me that my aunt concocted the scheme the second Anne was born but my dear late mother never agreed to it. She married my father for love, you understand, and I know my parents wanted the same for me. My father told me so on his deathbed." Darcy felt the swell of grief that he had never fully suppressed at the memories. The blurry face of his mother, the memories diminished by time no matter how he had tried to cling to them as a child. The day his parents had told him of his mother's pregnancy. How both their faces had glowed with happiness. Then his father, wasting away on his deathbed, beseeching Darcy to promise to marry for love, for though it had wrought him great pain it had brought him even greater happiness. And Elizabeth deathly still, as Darcy thought that love might just bring him more pain than it had happiness.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth, concerned. She was leaning towards him again, hand half-outstretched as though she was considering offering comfort.

"Sorry." Darcy cleared his throat.

"Your parents sound like good people. Who taught their son well."

"They were." A silence. More images swirling through his head. His mother and father dancing in Pemberley's music room. His mother, pale and wan, after Georgiana's birth. Flowers strewn across a hallway in his father's anger at the world. His mother's beloved vase falling through the air to shatter against the cold marble floor below as Darcy watched from above, mesmerised, disbelieving he had done such a thing.

But no, Darcy shook himself, now was not the time for such recollections.

"There was never an engagement between Anne and me," Darcy told Elizabeth, taking up the previous conversation where it had left off. "Not in my eyes, nor Anne's, or anyone's eyes other than my aunt. Which paints the clearest possible picture of my aunt's character. Duty brings me and Edward to Rosings every Easter, so as to help our aunt with her estate as best we can and rectify any issues, just as many of which are wrought by my aunt herself as by her tenants or nature. For she will never admit to not being able to run the estate on her own. If she allowed herself to be taught I believe she could be a truly component landowner, but she is not willing to owe to the lacking of her own education, even though it is understandable for a woman in her position. Sir Louis de Bourgh was not a man who felt the need to share the ruling of his estate with his wife whilst he lived, nor for his wife to improve her education, and so my aunt has been taught nothing beyond the accomplishments taught to a maiden to catch a husband. Myself and Edward try each year to give her the best advice and knowledge we have, but we may as well tell it to the walls of Rosings itself for all that she will listen to us. She will not admit her own ignorance."

"Perhaps she finds it patronising to be taught be her own nephews? Men younger than her."

"You may be correct. Yet she does not listen to my uncle either."

"I am getting the notion your aunt does not listen to anyone."

"That is a fair summary."

"But we are getting off topic again." A quirk of her lips. "What happened whilst yourself and your cousin were at Rosings?"

"I saw you again. You had to come to visit your cousin and his wife, your friend."

Elizabeth sighed. "Charlotte did marry Mr. Collins, didn't she? That much I do recall."

"Yes. They have a son, William Junior. And from all you have mentioned from Mrs. Collins' letters I do believe she has made amends with her lot in life and is tolerably happy with the choices she has made."

"I can not imagine anyone being happy as Mrs. Collins, but I hope what you say is true for Charlotte's sake."

"Mrs. Collins is of a different temperament to yourself. I do not think you would have been happy in a marriage not borne of love." Darcy said the last words without consideration and was rewarded with a pointed look from Elizabeth. But her next words were unexpected.

"Are you aware Mr. Collins proposed to me?"

"I must confess when I arrived at Rosings to be told Mr. Collins had brought a bride home from Hertfordshire I expected it to be you."

"Then you knew me little at all."

"Indeed. The reasoning behind such a thought was that I had overheard your mother at the Netherfield Ball. It was that which propelled me to ask you to dance, for my initial reaction was disgust at the idea of you attached to that lickspittle of a parson. I was most relieved when I learnt it was Charlotte Lucas who was now Mrs. Collins, and it was then I decided I had made a terrible mistake in leaving you behind in Hertfordshire. That I could not continue with my life as I had thought. For you plagued me, Elizabeth. I could not rid myself of the thought of you."

"You pay odd compliments, Mr. Darcy."

"You demanded the truth, did you not?" he countered.

"Touché, sir. Though one question: if you knew of the proposal how did you not know the answer?"

"I only learnt that he had actually proposed and been rejected by yourself long after the fact. I must confess at the time I did not think you were in a position to be rejecting proposals, but by the time you informed me of your rejection of Mr. Collins I was well aware of your willingness to turn down legible offers that were not well proposed." Darcy gave a small self-depredating smile, but when Elizabeth screwed up her face in confusion he cursed out loud. Once more he had forgotten to check his speech before he spoke and now he had dropped one of the major points of the story on her with no fore-warning.

"How many proposals have I turned down in my time?"

"Just the two to my knowledge. Myself and Mr. Collins."

"But, sir, you said I was your wife?"

"And so you are, but it took a second proposal and a large schism of opinion for you to agree to gave me your hand."

"There was more than one proposal? You are most persistent, Mr. Darcy."

"Persistence paid off. Sometimes you have to fight for something if you truly want it. It only makes the final conclusion sweeter. But once more I get ahead of myself. I am telling this story all awry."

"I think it matters little. My mind will feel scrambled no matter how you tell it."

"Are you feeling unwell? Would you like me to stop awhile, allow you to rest?"

"Mr. Darcy, you cannot tell me I rejected your proposal and then stop!"

Darcy laughed at her exuberance. So much life in one who just a day earlier had been as still as death. This was his Elizabeth. Not the still woman she had been the last week, or the ghost of herself she had been all winter.

"Mr. Darcy! Stop taunting me and tell me what occurred!" Darcy was pulled from his reflections by Elizabeth's cheerful insistence.

"It was at the end of your trip to visit Mrs. Collins. You did not show up at Rosings due to a headache. And I found myself missing your company so much I knew I could never let you walk out of my life again. Not when it seemed like fate had given me a second chance, for in the same conversation I had learnt you were not Mrs. Collins I also learnt that you in Kent. So I travelled down to the parsonage to seek an audience."

"How did I react to that?" Though she worded it as a question, her tone meant she might as well have just stated that she knew she would not have reacted positively.

"You were surprised. Unhappily so, I soon learnt to my chagrin. But I was arrogant, I assumed it was a flattered surprise. I made a lot of false assumptions that trip to Kent. I assumed your witty comments were designed to flirt not to wound, that when you told me where you would be walking the next day it was an invitation to join you."

"When in fact I was telling you where to avoid. Now that is an assumption on my part but the astonishment on your face informs me that I am correct." She had recognised his reaction before he truly had a chance to hope this time.

"Unlike my assumptions yours is correct. I misread every signal you sent in my direction. So I expected you to be taken by surprise by my addresses but I travelled to the parsonage in full expectation that I would leave having secured your hand in marriage." The mixture of scorn and disbelief on Elizabeth's face only reaffirmed what he already knew of her feelings that day. Darcy sighed gently. "I will admit now I did not word my proposal rightly."

"Oh?" So much curiosity in that one little sound. Darcy wished he could skip this part of the story he had to tell, the life had had lived. His behaviour at the Meryton assembly had been rude but at least he could make excuses for it, feeble though he felt for having to do so. But his first proposal - reflecting back now he knew he had no excuse, no explanation beyond his own pigheadedness.

"I thought you would be complimented by how I had chosen to overcome my doubts because of my love for you."

"Please tell me you did not include all your reasoning for not marrying me as part of your marriage proposal?" The face Darcy pulled clearly told Elizabeth her answer. "Oh, Mr. Darcy!" Part exasperation, part amusement. "No wonder I rejected you." Darcy knew she would have rejected him no matter what he had said, but did not feel the need to draw Elizabeth's attention to this fact.

"It was crudely done. You made sure I saw that as soon as I had finished speaking the words."

"I would imagine so."

"If you do not mind I will not repeat the exact words you used, it was not a proud moment for either of us. Suffice to say you were suitably cutting. You had three major issues you wanted to address to me, the first being the un-gentlemanly like nature of my proposal, the second being the part in which I played in separating your sister and Bingley, which you had learnt of from my cousin in the least useful attempt at being helpful ever, though his heart was in the right place. I had told him I thought I had saved a friend from a bad marriage, he knew not that the friend was Bingley, nor that the woman I had supposedly saved him from was your sister. And the third being my treatment of our mutual acquaintance Mr. Wickham." The flash of interest in her eyes told Darcy he did not have to ask if she remembered Wickham. He remembered that the Elizabeth at the point where her memories stopped still held tender feelings for Wickham and he felt a twinge of jealousy, before pushing it away as a ridiculous notion. She had seen the truth about Wickham once, she would see it again he was sure. "I did not answer your issues then, too distracted by my disappointment and anger that I would not be leaving the parsonage with your hand in marriage. But once I returned to Rosings I realised that, whilst I stood no chance of marrying you, I was not willing for you to leave knowing that you held such a negative image of me. Some stubborn, and I suppose you could say prideful, part of me wanted you to know you were wrong. So I wrote you a letter. And managed to get it into your hands on your morning walk the day you left. I explained two matters in that letter in the hope that I would leave you with a clearer picture. I did not expect you to suddenly change your opinion. I just wanted you to know and understand the truth. The first was my part in the separation on Bingley and the then Miss. Bennet, which I have already explained. The second was the length and happenings of my acquaintance with Mr. George Wickham. What do you recall of Wickham?"

Elizabeth frowned, but it a thoughtful expression, not the full force of her anger as Darcy had feared.

"I met him when his regiment were stationed in Meryton. He spoke very ill of you, sir. Claimed you denied him a living that had been bequeathed to him in your late father's will." She was looked to him, enquiring, but there was a calmness to her enquiry that was a marked difference to when they had discussed the manner the first time around in Hunsford. As if she this time she was expecting there to be a rational explanation behind Wickham's claims.

"I did not deny Wickham his inheritance. He disowned it, claiming an interest in studying the law, and asked for £3000 compensation for the loss of the living, which I gave gladly. I did not think Wickham had the right temperament for a clergyman, and though I doubted his sincerity in showing an interest for the law, I could not help bur hope there may be some truth in it. Alas, there was not."

"Oh!" Elizabeth's mouth rounded over the gentle exclamation as she pondered his words. "Why did he lie?" It did not escape Darcy that she believed him so easily, she most certainly had not originally, and he wondered where this easy acceptance stemmed from.

"Wickham is a man who likes to cause trouble wherever he may go. But he has a particular enmity for myself. For Wickham wants the pleasures of life without any of the work. And he sees me as the man who stopped him." Another querying look. "I thought when I gave him the value of the Klympton living I had seen the last of George Wickham and I will not pretend I was not glad at the thought."

"You were friends once, were you not, Mr. Darcy? Yet you wanted to cut him?"

"I wish I could have cut him long ago. But yes, as children we were friends. But as we grew older we grew apart. Wickham grew more interested in gambling and in tumbling the serving girls - I mean -" Again Darcy had forgotten that Elizabeth's mind was as innocent as the day before he had married her.

She did not seem fazed by his crude statement though. "And you, sir?" She cocked her head to one side, curiosity gleaming in her face.

"Gambling is not a vice of mine. The odd hand of cards now and then, and never for big money, is enough for me. Wickham was convinced he could win that big jackpot that would keep him from having to make a living in any other manner. Instead he left debts everywhere he went. As for women-" Darcy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I could never see the right in his one-sided affairs. He left as many ruined reputations behind as he did debts, and I worry a few bas-" This time Darcy stopped himself in time.

"Bastards?" Elizabeth finished for him. "Women talk of these things too, Mr. Darcy. After all, we are the ones left caring for them."

"I, well, the point is, after my father died I retreated into myself. Trying to cope with my loss and my new responsibilities. But with no need to court my father's good opinion any longer, Wickham grew wilder. In short it quickly became obvious we were no longer compatible with each other's company." Darcy had tried, just the once, to unburden himself to his oldest friend after his father's death. Wickham's response that he should not complain now he had all of Pemberley's wealth at his fingertips had nearly caused Darcy to punch him. His added comment that he could spend some of that newly inherited money on women for them both had been the catalyst that meant he did. Darcy massaged his hand at the memory.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth, beloved eyes glittering with curiosity.

"I was merely recall an old memory."

"No need to brag." A smile for him, though the comment had Darcy confused. "You know, since I do not have that luxury." The apology died on Darcy's lips as he saw the teasing quirk of her lips. But then her face fell serious. "I assume you did see him again though?"

"Unfortunately. He returned after a year, asking to be given the living after all."

"But surely you had already given it to someone else. And what happened to his money?"

"I had indeed. Mr. Kent is a fine pastor to the people of Klympton. And he, Wickham, had spent it all."

"All £3000!"

"Every last penny. And he was already in debt again."

"So you refused him the living, I hope?"

"I did. And again hoped that was the last I would ever see of him."

"Why do I get the feeling that did not go as hoped?"

"Because you have intellect."

"It did not take much intellect to make that guess, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth stated matter-of-factly, which made Darcy snort in amusement, which caused Elizabeth to laugh.

Once she had stopped chuckling, Darcy continued. "You would be correct. Though I wish you weren't. For what George Wickham did next is the one thing I will never forgive him for. It was the summer before I came to Netherfield-"

"Would this be the matters of earlier then?"

"Indeed. Georgiana was spending the summer at Ramsgate with her companion of the time, a Mrs. Younge, upon whose character I had been most deceived."

"I do not like where this is going, Mr. Darcy. For all that I've known her a day - or can remember knowing her for a day - Miss. Darcy seems a sweet young woman."

"I am gladdened to hear you say so, Elizabeth. It was always my wish that you two would be truly like sisters, and you have been excellent influence on her."

"Even when I teach her to speak against you?" Darcy looked at her in shock, taken back by this recollection she should definitely not have. "Georgiana mentioned it earlier."

"Oh, of course." Yet Darcy still felt the pain of dashed hopes once more. "And especially then. I have sheltered my sister too much, especially since Wickham, and it pleases me greatly that you were helping her to come out of her shell."

"Are," Elizabeth corrected. "It is very much an action I would like to continue." At this Darcy took up her hand once more and kissed it. Receiving no complaints, he laced his fingers through hers once more, hoping they would remain so, for he could think of no more incidents to cause her anger in the rest of the tale.

"But what did Wickham do to her, Mr. Darcy? What am I up against?"

"When I refused him the living and any more money, he turned to the thought of marrying for money."

Elizabeth gasped. "He tried to make Georgiana elope?" Darcy nodded as a flood of memories clambered for dominance in his mind. Georgiana, pale and shaking when she realized how Wickham had tricked her. Wickham, grinning as he had both when Darcy had confronted him that day in Ramsgate and on the day over a year later when Darcy had found him with Lydia Bennet in his bed. And Elizabeth, shouting abuse at him in Wickham's name.

"Mrs. Younge was a confederate of Wickham's. Together they tricked Georgiana into thinking he was in love with her, that I wound never approve because he was our former steward's son, and that there only option was to elope. Turned it into a forbidden love story like in those novels you pretend not to read. If she had gone to Gretna Green with him I would have had no choice but to hand over her dowry, for fear of what he might have done to her had I not."

"But she did not go to Scotland. That is something to take heart from, is it not?" Darcy was not sure if he imagined the slightest brush of her thumb against his hand.

"Very true. I arrived earlier than expected, and Georgiana at the sight of me broke down and told the truth. What I may have found if I had only been on time is a thought that still haunts me to this day."

"Georgiana appears a clever young woman. And she greatly admires her older brother, that much is clear to someone who has only spoken one conversation with her, I do not think she would have gone without deciding to tell you."

"I wish I could believe you. But Wickham knows how to trick women, to trick people."

"Like he tricked me?"

"Yes. But you are not the only one. He tricked me, my father, both our sisters. I would not waste too much time worrying over falling for his tricks. Am I to assume you believe me then? I think you still have the letter in your keeping, despite my requests for it to be destroyed, I imagine it could be found on your writing desk if you wish to look for it. Or you can ask, well, I would prefer it if you did not question Georgiana for obvious reasons, but my cousin Edward shares Georgiana's guardianship with me and can confirm it all."

"There is no need for that, Mr. Darcy, I believe you. " Elizabeth sounded distracted as she answered and Darcy wondered if she was still pondering Wickham's words on himself. Still deciding who to believe despite her earlier assurances. "Earlier, Mr. Darcy, did you say both our sisters?"

Darcy cursed again, louder this time. Elizabeth looked on, looking like she didn't know whether to be worried or amused. "I do apologise, my dear, I mean Miss. Bennet." He shook his head, annoyed by his own confusion. "Mrs. Darcy," heavy emphasis, "even."

"Remind me which of us has amnesia, Mr. Darcy?" A quirk of the side of her mouth. But then her face fell serious. "My sisters?"

"I forget how much you no longer remember, an irony I'm sure, and I apologise." Seeing Elizabeth look of anxious frustration he decided he better get to the heart of the matter. She would not accept 'but that's later in the story' where her family were concerned. "Lydia. She went to Brighton with the militia." A look of disdain suggested that Elizabeth shared her earlier self's aversion of that idea. "There she meet Wickham again."

"And he convinced her to elope? Oh, Lydia!" Her exclamation was exasperation rather than astonishment. The little he knew of Lydia Wickham led Darcy to believe she was always going to cause some kind of trouble for her family, that shocked as she had been Lydia's elopement had not completely surprised Elizabeth. "She went to Gretna Green?"

Darcy hesitated, not wanting to insult Elizabeth's family further. Even her silliest, least beloved sister. "They are married, yes."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "You promised to tell me the truth, remember, Mr. Darcy."

"And I have. They are married."

"A lie of omission is still a lie. I thought disguise of any kind was your abhorrence?" It took a few moments to remember he had said similar words earlier in the conversation as he heard Elizabeth repeat them near exactly has he had said to her during his first disastrous proposal.

"Wickham took her down to London. Your father followed, and I followed with Uncle Gardiner from Pemberley."

"Uncle Gardiner was at Pemberley?" Elizabeth's shock at this information was enough to distract her from the thought of Lydia.

"With your Aunt and yourself. You came on a trip up north, and Aunt Gardiner wished to visit her hometown of Lambton, whilst there you paid a trip to view Pemberley, and when I learned of your presence I invited you to stay as guests."

"I went on a tour of Pemberley? Was this before we had reached any kind of agreement?"

"Yes. You were under the impression I wasn't home." Elizabeth found little to say in reply, instead she bit her lip as was her habit when in deep thought. Darcy usually loved it when she did so, but today, as his eyes focused on her luscious lips, it was a delightful form of torture.

"Lydia, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth queried, breaking both their contemplations.

"We found her eventually with Wickham, and they were persuaded they must marry."

"You mean Wickham was persuaded? Lydia went with every intention of getting married. I'm quickly gathering that Wickham's intentions are not so pure in these matters. On that thought: why Lydia? Mine and my sister's dowries are negligible, as you yourself must know. There was no money to be gained from eloping with her. What would he gain? I don't understand. There was no monetary gain in marrying her so why bother? Then again if you had to persuade him then he never intended to marry her, he planned to ruin her. That's it, isn't it? What you're so reluctant to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Why though? Just to, to well, trick her into his bed?" Elizabeth stumbled over the words, obviously uncomfortable discussing such matters.

"Not just that no. Revenge."

"On Lydia? My sister is silly but harmless."

"Your sister nearly ruined your entire family." Darcy regretted the snap in his voice the moment he finished speaking. But young though she had been it was difficult for him to forgive Lydia for nearly ruining Elizabeth's reputation through association. He was aware that her actions were the same ones he had forgiven his own sister for nearly committing, yet he struggled with the notion of forgiveness in terms of Lydia. Perhaps because her actions had nearly cost both him and Elizabeth everything, or perhaps simply because she had never repented - never once had Lydia shown remorse or understanding of what she had nearly done to her family.

"Was it my family Wickham wanted revenge on then?" Though Elizabeth's eyes were questioning, her tone suggested she was willing to overlook his sudden snappishness. For now at least. Darcy fought to tamper down his anger at Wickham and Lydia. Damn Wickham! He always had to be a cause of trouble, even half a country away.

"No. It was me. He found out about my attachment to you, and used ruining your sister to strike at me."

"But he married her, in the end. If revenge was his game he could have refused. Unless you offered him…" Elizabeth's words trailed off slowly. She was biting her lip in thought again. But whatever conclusion she had come to she did not seem pleased with. "You offered him money, didn't you?"

"Yes," Darcy admitted. He remembered how he had not wanted her to know originally, had not wanted her to feel she was in his debt and that she should be obligated towards him because of it. Would she feel that way now? He could see Elizabeth processing his agreement, saw her lips turning down into a frown when so recently they had been smiling at him. Darcy decided he should explain how she had come to learn of that fact the first time round, to explain he had not wanted her to feel indebted, but Elizabeth spoke first.

"How much?" Elizabeth's words were curt. Missing the kindness he had noticed growing as their conversation progressed.

"Elizabeth, it doesn't matter. It's done now, and I was glad to help you and your family."

"How much, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked forcefully. Her eyes were cold emeralds. Her fingernails dug into his hand. But she had not let go, Darcy noted.

"Elizabeth, really. It does not matter." He said the words with force. He opened his mouth to continue onwards with the story but Elizabeth interrupted again.

"How much, sir? How much was I bought for?"

"Bought for? Elizabeth, I don't understand."

"All this time I've been allowing myself to be convinced that I was wrong in regards to you. I allowed myself to think that I had somehow gotten what I wished for as a child. That you were not the man I thought I was, and that meant I was the woman I thought I was."

"Elizabeth, I-" Mr. Darcy tried to explain but Elizabeth continued regardless. "But I was right all along, wasn't I? You said you loved me, at the start of this whole sorry affair, but what kind of love is this? When you bought me, knowing that I hated you, for the price of my family's reputation? So tell me, Mr. Darcy, how much am I worth to you? What price did you put on my head so you could bring me here to your home and your bed?" She was crying now, though she was pretending not to be. Striving to keep the tears within. "Was I worth it?"

"Elizabeth, I -"

With a sudden force of movement, Elizabeth forced herself away from him. Then to Darcy's utter shock she gripped her nightdress in her hand and begin to ride up her skirt as if she was about to undress.

"Come, sir. Come use what you paid for. I would not want you to think you made a bad purchase." She moved as though to remove her nightdress. Darcy grabbed hold of her wrists to stop her.

"Stop! Elizabeth, stop! What is this madness?" For in that moment, as she stared at him with wild eyes, her face damp with tears, struggling to wriggle free of his capturing hands, shouting at him about receiving what he paid for, Darcy truly worried his wife had run mad. That whatever had gone wrong in her mind had truly thrown her over the edge into the sea of insanity.

"I thought you might actually be a good man. That was my madness." Her voice now calmer, eerie.

"Elizabeth, I did not buy you. Let me finish and I will-"

"Finish? What is there to finish? Except to tell whether you emotionally blackmailed me after the fact or if it was transaction made between you and my father on my sister's wedding day? I see the story plain as day, Mr. Darcy."

"Elizabeth, let me explain." Desperate and pleading. Darcy knew he should loosen his grip on her wrists but she was scaring him. He did not know what she would do if he let go.

"Explain? How did you plan to sugar coat it to tell me? That you saved my sister for me? For love of me? Is that your justification?"

"Elizabeth, please!"

"No, Mr. Darcy. I see our story now. I refused you once and then when you knew my family was in distress you used that to buy my affection. My hand. All those others details can not change that cold simple fact. I do believe you love me, Mr. Darcy. And I think it has driven you to do a terrible thing, and I am sorry for you."

"For God's sake, Elizabeth, you loved me too!"


	7. A Conversation: Part II

**Chapter 7 - A Conversation: Part II**

Never had Elizabeth been so infuriated. He had tricked her. All of the previous stories, all the explanations, the words of love, she had told herself she would listen and so she did. The more he talked the more she thought she had been wrong about him. He had pride, no doubt, and a strong sense of his place in the world, but he could be humble too. He had apologised, insulted himself, plainly listed his faults. The more she listened the more she realized that Fitzwilliam Darcy was a complex character, that there was much more to him than the one-sided view of a conceited prig she had thought him to be. This thought brought her relief - glorious heady relief - as she felt her worries slipping away. Felt herself relax, as talking with him began to feel natural to her, for her to be comfortable enough to make the odd joke or quip and be rewarded with seeing him smile. And, oh, what a smile he had! She had never denied he was a handsome man, but it was quite something different altogether to see his face lit up with a smile.

She could feel her entire outlook on her new situation changing as he talked. For it did not seem so unrealistic now that she could have married this man she saw before her.

Then he ruined it. He had tried to hid what had to be done to make Mr. Wickham marry Lydia. The money he had paid. But he had told her enough of the truth for her to figure it out for herself. To his credit, at least he had not denied it. But she felt her heart freeze over at that one word - "yes". He had tried to make himself more palatable to her, tried to make her see him better. All, she assumed, in the hope that she would not see the truth before her.

If he had told her that truth from the start she would have been annoyed but not hurt. At the start of this conversation she had expected nothing less from him. But he had given her hope and then snatched it away. She felt the burning heat of her anger spread through her and she spoke without thought or reason. Saying and doing things she would not have believed of herself, and a part of herself screamed at her to stop, to listen, but it was overpowered by her raw fury at him, and herself, for allowing herself to believe he was a better person.

He held her close, her wrists clasped tightly in his hands, and she could see the pain in his eyes, and his worry for her, and the words were tumbling out of her mouth before she even realised what she was saying. Yet as she said them she realised the truth in them. She did still believe him when he said that he loved her. Only that it was a twisted love, that had driven him to desperation, and she felt her anger slowly draining away to a great whelm of pity. He was just a man. A man who, in the course of a conversation, had shown her that he did have morals and a good character, but who had swept them all aside because of the terrible power of unrequited love. She did not who she felt more sorry for in all this: herself or him?

Then Mr. Darcy spoke again, and Elizabeth realized that once more she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. He said she had loved him too, and something in the way he said it, in the frustration and the anguish, made her believe it was true. Or at least that he thought it was true. But she would not have lied, would she? Or had she? To save her family from ruin? Had she gotten it the wrong way round? Had she seen Mr. Darcy as her family's only chance and told him she had changed her mind, and that was why he had paid off Mr. Wickham?

Elizabeth tried to slow her thoughts. Told herself that all her other conclusions had been wrong. That whenever she questioned herself or Mr. Darcy or assumed the worst of them, she ultimately was proven wrong.

Could she have loved Mr. Darcy once? Could she again?

She did not know.

She felt Mr. Darcy loosen his grip on her wrists and realised she had relaxed from her earlier wrought stance, sitting once more on top of the bedding, letting her nightdress fall around her legs. She felt heat rush to her cheeks as she remembered her actions earlier, and wondered what had come over her. She shivered, remembering the terrifying mix of anger and disgust that had raced through her body, causing her to say and do things she had not thought herself capable of.

"Elizabeth?" Mr. Darcy, his voice questioning, it entered her mind as if from a distance. The ache in her head was growing worse again, but rather than a drumbeat this time it was accompanied by a buzzing. Like a bee in the garden, but she can not walk away from it, or flap it away with her hands. It just kept on buzzing, growing louder and louder. Her whole world felt fuzzy. Everything she knew or thought she knew kept slipping away from underneath her, as if she was onboard a ship on turbulent waters, and failing to find her sea legs. Struggling to keep her balance. For Elizabeth's mind was caught between recoiling from all she had said and done, and trying to process Mr. Darcy's previous words. She wanted to collapse backwards onto the bed, hid under the covers again, and wait for the world to set itself to rights again. She remembered the doctor's order that she should stop immediately if speaking of her own past increased her illness, but even as she though it she knew that she could not stop now. She had to know the rest of the story and hope that it started to make more sense.

"I think, sir. That you should continue with your story." She struggled to keep her voice calm. "I can only apologise for my unnecessary interruption." Even as she said it she knew that was an wholly inadequate understatement but she can not think what else to say, how to explain the concoction of emotions she had just experienced.

Mr. Darcy gave her a querying look and she hoped he would not comment on what had just happened. To her relief he did as she requested.

"After Hunsford I was angry for a long time. I told myself to forget you. That you were just one woman. But I couldn't. I couldn't let your memory go, or heal the wound your words had caused. So over time I calmed down and was able to examine your words rationally, without the cloud of anguish blocking my thinking. And I realised I could not deny your accusations about my behaviour. You may have been prejudiced against me causing you to see the very worst in me, but those prejudices were brought about by my own actions. So I decided I would try to correct my actions. Be a gentleman you - and my parents - would have been proud of."

"I'm sure your parents would have been proud of you, Mr. Darcy. As for me, you have been the very picture of a gentleman this entire conversation, even when I have hardly been a lady." Once more Elizabeth was only recognising the truth as it tumbled out of her mouth. Calmer now as he once more spoke honestly and humbly, and as pieces of a puzzle started to fall into place. He spoke of making changes to his own character and actions, and it helped to explain how the man she remembered had become the man she saw before her now. For, she reminded herself, much as it felt like it to her, these changes in him had not happened overnight. She had to keep remembering that over a year had passed, and people can change a lot in a year. Telling herself this made this new version of Mr. Darcy feel more realistic, rather than a fevered dream.

"Do not hold yourself accountable for what happened earlier, Elizabeth. You have had a lot to comprehend in such a short space of time." She felt the sudden heat and weight of Mr. Darcy's hand upon her own once more. She did not feel the desire to throw it off, as she knew she would have done only a few hours before. What a difference one conversation could make. But 'knowledge was key' as her father was so fond of saying.

"Still I must apologise once more. It was a most hasty accusation."

"I thank you for your apologies, Elizabeth. But now let us never speak upon it again, I see no need to dwell on such an occurrence." Elizabeth felt the sudden force of her gratitude at his words just as heavily as she had felt her earlier anger.

"Thank you for your patience, sir."

"Patience is a lesson we have both had to learn. Happiness did not come easy to us. I told you earlier that yourself and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner stayed as guests at Pemberley. I had not planned to ever see you again but when I ran into you in Pemberley's ground I could not pass up the opportunity. Just to be in your company again was a delight, and I wanted to redeem myself for my previous behaviour. To show you that I could be a gentleman and, much as I told myself that you had made your opinion on the matter quite clear, I could not help but hope that if you were able to see me in a better light - for I am nowhere quite more comfortable in myself as I am here at home in Pemberley - that you might change your mind. I fell in love with you even more during that stay in Pemberley. Seeing you here in my home, watching you interact with my sister, I will not deny it made me want to make this your home permanently. But I told myself I would allow no such hope unless I thought it was reciprocated. I did not want to cause either of us to have to endure the embarrassment of another rejected proposal. As for yourself, I know you did not want to risk showing a desire for an attachment if that same desire had been tampered down within myself. For I know now that you began to love me during that visit to Pemberley."

"But we were at an impasse? I would not show my growing admiration out of fear you no longer loved me, and you would not show me you still loved me as long as you could see no evidence of the attachment now being reciprocated in my actions." Elizabeth could picture such a situation, she was even finding the thought of herself falling in love with Mr. Darcy less impossible.

"Exactly. God only knows how long we would have remained in such a quandary if your visit had not been cut short by the letter announcing that Lydia had run away with Wickham." Elizabeth felt another stab of annoyance at her sister. She wished she was more shocked by the news of her sister's stupidity, but it was in truth the part of Mr. Darcy's story she found easiest to believe. She had always said Lydia needed to be checked, but her father had always ignored her in favour of pretending the problem did not exist, and her mother fawned over the daughter she most saw herself in.

"You returned to Longbourn to comfort your mother," Mr. Darcy's story continued, "and I offered to travel to Town with Uncle Gardiner, using the notion that my past acquaintance with Wickham gave me better knowledge of his favourite haunts and likely accomplices as my reasoning. Once we found them, visiting parts of London I never wish to enter again-"

"Like Cheapside?" The words spat out of Elizabeth's mouth before she could stop them, powered by a fission of irritation at his off-hand snobbery.

"I did not mean Cheapside, Elizabeth." Elizabeth was not sure if she imagined the frustration in his tired voice. "In fact, your aunt and uncle are amongst my favourite members of your family, second only to Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. I find them intelligent, well-mannered people, and I will always be thankful to them, your aunt especially, for the part they played in bringing us together in the end."

"I am glad to hear it," Elizabeth admitted, and she felt another nugget of relief nestle itself into her heart.

"But to get back to the point at hand, when we eventually found them it became obvious Wickham had no intention of marrying Lydia without an incentive. Your uncle asked me how much I thought it would have to be. The amount I told him stunned him, because I knew that it was not him but me that Wickham was trying to exhort. I knew then the only way to save Lydia's reputation, and by extension yours, was to offer Wickham the money myself."

"And my father and uncle did not mind?"

"Your uncle was not as surprised as you might have expected, having only met me at Pemberley, he had not seen me at my worst at Meryton. More so both he and your aunt had a suspicion of my regard for you. Your father had returned to Longbourn by this point, and as such was not aware of any of it till the day I knocked on his study door and ruined the peace of his sanctuary by asking his permission to marry you."

Elizabeth laughed, imagining her father's face during that conversation. He, who liked to laugh at the absurdity of others, for once the absurd one. Well, him and Mr. Darcy both. What a conversation that must have been!

"You will have to tell me more of that conversation later."

"And I will. But first we most overcome the unpleasantness that is George Wickham. He agreed readily to the marriage once the right sum was offered. Suddenly that had been his plan all along." Mr. Darcy's aversion to Mr. Wickham oozed from that last sentence, and Elizabeth cursed herself once more for ever believing his lies. For now the Elizabeth who had believed him seemed so gullible, all that talk of how he could never blacken Mr. Darcy's name out of respect for the late Mr. Darcy, and then Mr. Wickham had done exactly that not five minutes further into the conversation. Yet was she not doing the same with Mr. Darcy? Believing him so easily when for all she knew he could be making the entire story up. Yet he had offered her proof - told her she could check with his cousin the validity of the tale of Mr. Wickham's elopement with Miss. Darcy. And as for Lydia's marriage and the circumstances leading up to it, if that was a lie it was one he had to know would unravel quickly, particularly if his promised trip to visit Jane happened. No, Elizabeth found she had more reason to believe Mr. Darcy than she ever had Mr. Wickham.

"I asked your uncle to keep my involvement in the affair unknown. I did not want you to feel indebted to me." Elizabeth's squirmed with guilt and she went to apologise again but Mr. Darcy cut her off. "We agreed not to discuss the earlier incident again, did we not?" Elizabeth nodded, closing her mouth again. "It turned out to be pointless request, for I had forgotten to factor in Mrs. Wickham's tendency for gossip and your own quick intelligence. It did not take long for you to pierce together the significance of Mrs. Wickham having witnessed my presence at her wedding. But I was not aware of all this till later. I left that ceremony pleased that I had helped your family, and that you still had a chance for future happiness, but under the impression that I had seen you for the last time."

"I feel it a safe assumption that turned out to not be true?"

"Indeed. The source of that being the person you would least expect."

"Is this to become a guessing game, Mr. Darcy? It seems hardly fair."

"Of all the people I have told you off, who would be the very last person to want a marriage between ourselves?"

"This truly is not fair." Nonetheless, Elizabeth thought for a moment. "My cousin, Mr. Collins, perhaps?" Mr. Darcy's failed attempt at a poker face told her she was close. "Or your aunt?"

Mr. Darcy smiled widely at her. "Your intellect does not your fail you, Elizabeth, even under such circumstances as you have found yourself in. My aunt heard a rumour of my attachment for you, from whom I do not know, and travelled to Longbourn to convince you that you could never be my wife, I think you can picture how you responded to that."

"I imagine I did not meekly say okay and scurry away from the great lady's presence as hoped."

Mr. Darcy laughed, the sound did not surprise Elizabeth as much as it had the first time she had heard it. "No. You certainly did not. It was to my aunt that you have previously said your line about how I am a gentleman and you are a gentleman's daughter." Elizabeth laughed at the thought. Though she could not remember Lady Catherine, from all Mr. Darcy has told her she could easily picture the type of look she would had received for that comment. "My aunt tried to force a promise from you that you would never enter into an engagement with me, and you refused."

"I refused," Elizabeth repeated, deep in thought, for there were so many connotations to that action. Had she truly loved him then, and been hoping for a second proposal?

"You refused," Mr. Darcy confirmed. "My aunt left Longbourn in high dungeon and came straight to Pemberley, for if she could not get you to promise not to marry me, she thought to have me promise not to ask. But in her rant about your impertinence she unintentionally informed me that you had been unwilling to agree to refuse my hand in marriage, and that gave me hope. Such hope, Elizabeth! "

"So you came to Longbourn to ask for my hand once more?"

"In short, yes. That is our story, Elizabeth, and I hope it has not disappointed you."

"It has not." That was an understatement, but Elizabeth did not know what else to say. As a silence stretched out between them Mr. Darcy gave querying, waiting for a further response. But Elizabeth did not know how to react. The heat from Mr. Darcy's hand in hers blazed into her skin and she wondered again why she let it remain there. Because she had not wanted to hurt him, as she believed she would if she had asked him to remove it, this man who showered her with compliments and exclamations of love, but more importantly had told her a story that she could actually believe. She could picture herself acting as he had described. He had explained the impossible to her and in a manner that truly made it so the thought of him loving her - and her loving him back - did not seem the impossibility it had only a few hours ago. Yet he had not told it like a fairytale, he had been open about his faults and his flaws and that was what truly made her believe he was telling the truth. She could feel her prejudices slipping away. He was not a perfect man, he did indeed have many flaws, yet Elizabeth was beginning to understand that her husband might just be a good man.

"I understand it is a lot to process."

"It is, sir, yes. But the tale you have told it is… plausible."

"Plausible?"

"As I said earlier I spent the majority of this morning lying here trying to think of the circumstances that could bring around a union between ourselves, and I could think of none that appeased my knowledge of myself and of you. But now I began to understand. I believe what you tell, Mr. Darcy, because I can see myself marrying you under the circumstances as you have told. For I begin to understand you better. You are not the proud disagreeable man I thought I knew."

"I can be proud, I will warn you now. Of my home, of my family, of my wife."

"Well I would be worried if you could not find pride in those matters."Elizabeth was treated to another of his smiles. "Is there anything else I should know, sir? For I believe we have been married a year."

At this Mr. Darcy's face fell and Elizabeth regretted the question. But curiosity got the better of her as usual.

"I would ask, sir, that even if something bad has occurred between us I would like to know. An argument, perhaps? I imagine we do not always agree."

"No. We do not, I would expect nothing less. But it is not that I am reluctant to share with you."

"Then why the reluctance, Mr. Darcy?"

"I would not wish you to mourn a loss that you have already mourned once. The knowledge will not help you, and you have so much already to cope with."

"A loss?" Fear crept into Elizabeth. "Mr. Darcy, what did I lose?" He did not answer, merely studied their conjoined hands. But she saw the grief on his face. Not an object or a possession that had been lost, she could tell. "Who? Is it a who?"

"I should not have mentioned loss," he admitted softly. "It is not what you fear, Elizabeth. Your loved ones are all well and safe."

"Then who?"

"There was, there was..." As Mr. Darcy tripped over his words, Elizabeth squeezed his hands in comfort, only realising what she had done once she had already done it. But she could never have imagined the taciturn Mr. Darcy in such open grief, and she could not help but wish to comfort him.

"There was a babe." The words spilled from Mr. Darcy's lips in a hurried slur, as if saying them quickly could make the painful effect they caused go away faster."A girl. Least we both think of her as a girl, I know not why. What instinct it is that tells us so. For she was too young for us to tell truly. We did not even know of her existence until we lost her."

Without thought, Elizabeth automatically placed her spare hand on top of her stomach. A child had grown there, beneath where her hand now laid. She'd had a baby growing inside her, her child, Mr. Darcy's child. And that thought did not repulse her. What had it been like? To have life growing inside her? How big should she have grown by now or should her baby girl have already been born?

"When? How long ago did I…"

"Four months ago."

"How far.."

"Just under two months. You did not even know until," Mr. Darcy swallowed uncomfortably, still tripping over his words. "Until she was already gone," he finally finished in a whisper.

"How?" Elizabeth asked. How had she not known she carried life within her? Surely such a momentous happening had to be noticeable? Could you truly carry life within you and not even notice the change?

"Something about your, um, female, um, uh, courses? Not being typical?"

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, her women's courses had never properly regulated so that they could be depended on to fall monthly, but her mind was far away. With the other Elizabeth, as she thought of her, the one she could not remember being. How had she felt - to learn she had been carrying a child only after it had been lost? Was it the same as this? This strange longing for a child she had never known she carried. Elizabeth would never have expected it, this sudden deep desire for this lost baby girl. She could not help but imagine what she may have looked like. Would she have taken after Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy? Who would she have grown up to be more like? Would she have disappeared in the woods round Pemberley at every opportunity like Elizabeth had at Longbourn? Would she have loved reading like both her parents or been different to them both? Quiet like her father or chatty like her mother? Would she have had her father's dislike for dancing or her mother's love?

Elizabeth could see her in her mind's eye, a young baby girl in her arms, but even in her imaginings her features remained non-descript for Elizabeth did not know what they would have been.

"Elizabeth?"

"Is it strange that I miss a girl I can't even remember?"

"No," Mr. Darcy whispered. "I miss her too." He placed his spare hand over where hers still laid on atop her stomach and they both sat in silence thinking of a girl they had ever got the chance to met.

It was Mr. Darcy who eventually broke the silence. "We both struggled with our grief afterwards, but I had planned to talk to you the day you fell, once we'd made it to the stream, a place which is a favourite to both of us. What I wished to say that day was that we should not let grief crush us. That whilst we would always mourn our baby girl, and that fact will never change, we have to remember that we have much to appreciate and we should not let grief overtake us for ever. I had wanted us, not, not to move on as such, but to let our lives continue. For some aspect of our lives are out of our hands and that can not be changed however much we may wish it. Letting grief win helps no one. Of course those are statements easier said than done but I had hoped, do hope, that we can try."

Elizabeth could still feel the emptiness beneath where their hands linked over her stomach. She could not help but imagine what it would be like if her stomach was swollen beneath them. It would have terrified her when she first woke up and yet she wished for it nonetheless. But regardless of this sudden unexpected yearning she understood Mr. Darcy's words. They should not linger on what could not be changed.

"You are right, Mr. Darcy. It does no good to linger on such grief. I only wish I had a happier topic to which I could move this conversations onwards. But there reminds only one last aspect to question. The ending. Did I truly slip?"

Even as she said it she realized that even if their child had survived whatever had taken her from them, chances are she would not have survived the fall that had already robbed Elizabeth of her memories.

"Yes. I scarce believe it myself. You were racing on ahead of me, excited by the flowering of spring, and by being able to walk outside again once more. Then you grew distracted, you were focusing on something at the bottom of the mount, before I could turn to look you moved forward, but in your distraction you slipped on the mud, lost your feet from underneath you, and you were falling head over heels down the hill, and then," Mr. Darcy paused, as if he could not finish the sentence. His eyes were glazed and Elizabeth knew he was looking at her at the bottom of that hill once more.

"There are rocks at the bottom," she finished for him. "Did you go and look afterwards?" she asked, trying to pull him back to the present. Mr. Darcy gave her a puzzled look. "At the bottom of the mount. To see if you could try and figure out what I was staring at."

"I did not consider it. I was too worried for your health. And I do not want to return there." The way he said it told Elizabeth it was not to be questioned.

"You must admit it is a mystery, sir? Are you not in the least bit curious?"

"A little, I admit. But in all honesty it was most likely a deer or a fox." Elizabeth did not believe him, and she had the suspicion he did not believe himself either. That he was trying to convince himself just as much as her. For a simple deer or fox would not interest her enough to distract her from her footing.

"I suppose it matters little," she conceded, "In the grand scale of events. You have given me much greater thoughts to ponder over." So much she had to understand. Yet Mr. Darcy seemed pained by her words and a new idea occurred to her. "But whilst I will not be able to help doing so, how does a clean slate sound, Mr. Darcy? I have no memories. You have memories both sweet and bitter. I'm not saying you should forget, or that I wish to forget what you have told me, but now that I understand how I came to be your wife and all that has happened between us, I do not think it will help either of us to dwell on that which I can not remember. Much like you said earlier. Can we start afresh, Mr. Darcy? My prejudice has gone now. I do not love you, I will admit. I do not say that to hurt you but because I feel I must tell you the truth. I can not fall in love in a hour of conversation."

"We were hardly love at first sight the first time around so I expect nothing more. But would you at least say you no longer hate me, as you did back then?"

"No. I see now that my anger was misplaced."

"Then may I make a proposition?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?"

"May I court you, Miss. Elizabeth Bennet?"

"Well, sir, you will have to ask my father's permission first." She had to giggle at his downcast expression. "Yes, Mr. Darcy, you may court me."

Mr. Darcy lifted her hand from where it laid upon her stomach and placed it to his lips for a gentle kiss. Elizabeth smiled at him, and yet in the back of her mind thoughts twirled through her brain one after another. Images chasing each other around her head, as she tried to gather them all together and make sense of all she had learnt and how she should react. A scorned proposal, a fox in the woods of Pemberley, an angry aunt, a scoundrel of a man and the two young girls he tricked. But the one thought her mind kept returning to was a little girl who had never gotten a chance to live.


	8. A Doll's House

**Chapter 8 - A Doll's House**

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy sat together on the sofa in the parlour, leaning close to each other.

"I do love you, you know, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth told him.

"And I, you," Darcy told her back, pressing his lips to hers. Then they stood up and danced together, twirling through all the rooms of Pemberley, as the sound of a waltz played in the background.

"Georgiana? What on Earth are you doing?" Georgiana jumped in surprise at her cousin's voice, the dolls dropped from her hand, and her humming cut off mid-song. Her mind rushed to find an rational excuse for her actions but failing that she murmured a quiet "playing" to the floor.

Colonel Fitzwilliam came to stand by his cousin's side, peering at the doll's house which stood on a table centre-piece in her room. It was one of Georgiana's fondest possessions - a miniature version of Pemberley her father had gifted her as a child. The front of the model house was hinged, so it could be opened to reveal a simplified version of Pemberley's interior. All the major rooms of the house were captured in perfect detail. Her father had also gifted her a family of dolls alongside with the house. A man, a woman, a young boy and a young daughter. The perfect family. She had passed countless hours as a girl pretending that those dolls were her family, re-enacting her own wishful version of life inside Pemberley. Her mother alive and well, her father happy, Darcy a lively boy and herself a beloved daughter. Of course, she knew she was too old for such games now. She had not felt the need to rely on this false version of the residents of Pemberley since her betrayal by George Wickham.

"It is a magnificent doll's house, Georgie. So lifelike." He picked up one of the chairs from within the dining room. "This is almost an exact copy of your actual dining chair."

"You know Fitzwilliam does not like it when you call me that," Georgiana told him, hoping to distract him from the doll's house.

It did not work. He continued to study the miniature chair, frowning in thought over its details. "Are you not to old for such play now though, Georgiana?" The amusement as he said her Christian name told her that her last comment had not gone completely unnoticed.

"I was merely tidying it up. I bumped into it in haste earlier." Georgiana tried her hardest to keep her voice level and cheery.

"You are terrible liar, little Georgie." Despite the use of her nickname there was a sternness to her cousin's words. Georgiana studied the floor once more, unable to look at her cousin in the face. She did not want to see his disappointment.

"This is you, is it not?" Fitzwilliam had picked up the doll of the young blonde girl her father had told her he had chosen because it reminded him of Georgiana. She nodded. "Then who are they?" He pointed to the two figures left sprawled across the miniature Pemberley's hallway where she had dropped them in her mortification. Georgiana hesitated, embarrassed to tell him. "Your parents?" her cousin guessed. Georgiana went to nod her head and then changed it to a shake mid-motion. It would not do to lie to her cousin any more than she had already. It would have only been a part-lie but she was sure he would have figured it out all the same.

"They used to be," she admitted. "When I played with this set as a girl."

"But no longer? Then who? Ah, Darcy and Elizabeth?" Georgiana nodded, studying her shoes once more. She felt the heat in her cheeks and wished the ground would just swallow her up. Oh, why had she allowed herself to indulge in this childish game?

Her cousin was silent and Georgiana risked a glance upwards. Fitzwilliam was frowning, his face thoughtful, still studying the two dolls. Georgiana bit her lip nervously, then stopped when she realized what she doing, remembering her brother's words that it was an un-ladylike habit, even though he never scolded when Elizabeth did so.

"They are not figurines in a doll's house, Georgiana." Fitzwilliam's voice was gentle but Georgiana could not help but note the pity within it.

"I know that." She spat the words out in a manner nearing on snappish, annoyed at her cousin's patronizing. She may have been caught acting childish but she was still a young woman. It did not help that she was already annoyed at herself too, for though she had indeed known that her fantasying could not change facts, she had still indulged her whim.

"We can not make them act as we might wish them to do."

"But it's been two weeks!" Her cousin's look implied he did not consider this nearly as long a period of time as Georgiana did."And they're still acting so different around each other. It isn't normal! It isn't right! I want my brother and sister back!" Even as the words left her mouth Georgiana heard the whine in her voice and recognized she was acting like a demanding spoilt brat. But this was not a request for some ribbon, or a new bonnet, or to be allowed to go to a ball. She wanted her family back. She wanted life at Pemberley back to normal.

"Demanding will not bring Elizabeth's memory back. Nor make her love your brother again."

"She doesn't love him anymore? How can she not love him? She's his wife! She always loved him!" But then Georgiana remembered there was much she did not know, much she had no need to know or pry into. It did not make the situation any less frustrating. But still, how could Elizabeth not love her brother anymore? Even when she had first visited Pemberley as a guest, Georgiana had observed how Miss. Elizabeth Bennet had acted around her brother. She was sure she had loved him then. An Elizabeth who did not love her brother? Impossible!

Georgiana flopped down onto the nearest chair with a frustrated sigh.

"They need time, Georgiana. I think left to their own devices they will come to the same conclusions they did first time around." Her cousin still stood observing her doll's house, a figure in each hand.

"And if they do not?"

"We will just have to help and make sure they do, will we not? Come, little Georgie, I think we need to draw up a battle plan." He placed the two dolls back into the miniature Pemberley and stood erect in his best military pose, saluting her.

Georgiana laughed softly at his antics despite herself, and followed him as he marched out of her room. Passing by the doll's house she went to close it, noting as she did that he had placed the dolls that had represented Darcy and Elizabeth back in their place on the parlour sofa. They were holding hands.

~o~ ~O~ ~o~

Elizabeth had always hated the rain. How it kept her trapped inside, cutting off her escape to the great outdoors and leaving her with no outlet for the energy that coiled within her. She sat watching the rain droplets hitting the great window of Pemberley's library, feeling even more frustrated than was usual for a rainy day. For books had often been her solace on many a rainy day in the past, and so upon hearing the recognisable patter of raindrops she had headed to Pemberley's great library which had so thrilled her when Mr. Darcy first showed it to her. But she had forgotten how much of a strain reading was for her now, for just as the doctor had advised it caused her terrible headaches to concentrate on the written word for too long. She had not been able to make it to the end of Mr. Darcy's letter to herself written in Kent, which she had indeed found amongst the letters stored on her writing desk, though she had read enough to consider it further proof of his words. Nor had she gotten past the first paragraph of the letter Jane had written her. A fact that frustrated her endlessly. For news of Jane and her family was right there for her to read - Jane's pregnancy, her father's health, how her mother and her sisters fared - and yet she physically could not find out these facts that meant so much to her. She knew that she could ask Mr. Darcy or Georgiana to read the letter to her, but this felt like such an intrusion upon her privacy she could not bring herself to do so. Beside no doubt they would want to help her with her reply, and the questions she had to ask of Jane were most certainly for her sister's knowledge only. The last people she would want to learn of them were the Darcys. For though she believed her husband's story now, she knew that Jane would know more in regards to Elizabeth's own thoughts and actions, both before and after her marriage to Mr. Darcy. Even if Elizabeth had once loved Mr. Darcy, there were still matters you would confide in a beloved sister and not a husband. Especially in regards to said husband. Then there were her questions. So many questions she had to ask. But she could not read and she could not write, not without suffering a pain that only made her worry she was lessening whatever chance she had of fixing her broken mind and regaining her memories. She sent a withering glance at the shelves of books - so many, more than she could have ever dreamed off - and then another at the view of the rain-spattered grounds.

For the main reason Elizabeth hated the rain on the this particular day was it meant she had no chance of taking her daily walk outside with Mr. Darcy. For though she had always found one of the attractions of the outdoors to be the chance to escape her home, that lure had taken on a whole new twist now that Pemberley was her home and Mr. Darcy her husband, for it was in those precious moments they spent in the grounds of Pemberley that Mr. Darcy became himself. Or what Elizabeth now thought of as the true version of him. Far away from the prying eyes of his family and servants they were free to be who they truly were - a young couple in the early stages of courtship - whilst inside the confines of Pemberley under watchful eyes she had to be Mrs. Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley. And the simple truth was she did not how to be Mrs. Darcy. She must had learnt once, she knew, but the Elizabeth who had learnt that first time had knowingly chosen this course with her eyes wide open. She had not been thrust into it headlong without warning. Her new family had been all the help they could be, as had the incomparable Mrs. Reynolds, but the problem was that they did not know how to treat her. Should they act as they always had? Or treat her as a guest? For how could they treat someone as the mistress of the house when they had to show her where the dining room was?

It was worst of all though for poor Mr. Darcy. So many times she had seen him stop mid-action or pause mid-sentence. His words stilted behind a layer of formality and propriety that he seemed to be relying on as his way of answering the question: how do you treat your wife who does not remember being your wife? For there he was - caught between his natural action of treating her as his wife and his remembrance that she did not think of herself as such. For she still did not. She no longer doubted the possibility, but the Elizabeth of the past had had months to come to terms with her attachment to Mr. Darcy, and then the months following their engagement for readying herself for the notion of marriage. The current Elizabeth had had the strangest two weeks of her life. Filled with awkward conversations, second guessing her own actions, and so many hallways that all looked the same. And those few glorious moments outside with Mr. Darcy where she could be Miss. Elizabeth Bennet, and he could be her suitor, and they would speak of everything and anything: his family, her family, literature, music, art, estate-keeping, land, horses, the history of Pemberley, Derbyshire, Hertfordshire, Town, the Ton, the Season, Miss. Darcy's future debut, her uncle's business, her cousins' education, Mr. Darcy's schooling at Eton, Cambridge University, the time Lydia threw a book out of a window in disgust at her father's attempts at education. It was as she was telling that last story it had occurred to Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy had no doubt heard all her little family anecdotes before. It did not appear to lessen his enjoyment of her conversation, nor her of his. For a short period of time each day they were truly open to each other. And Elizabeth drew that time out longer and longer each day, far past the doctor's recommended time for outdoors exercise, always telling Mr. Darcy she felt fine no matter whether it was the truth or not. But the moment always had to end, and they had to resume their roles as Master and Mistress of Pemberley. Husband and wife. Brother and sister to Georgiana. Cousins to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

The rooms of Pemberley were a stage, and she was an actress with her role to play, but she had forgotten her lines, and all around her she watched as her fellow actors were thrown off kilter by her less than stellar performance. Trying to hide her own false lines by keeping to the script as best they could. But she had lost her script and she no longer knew the words and they couldn't hide it from the audience - that ever looming spectre of etiquette - forever.

"I thought you were still struggling to read?" Elizabeth jumped at Mr. Darcy's voice, tearing her eyes from the damp grounds she wished to be ale to run freely through. Not that it was just the rain that stopped her. She was expressively forbidden from going outside alone. She had argued against that, of course, but not as much as was her norm, owing entirely, she admitted, to the desperate look on Mr. Darcy's face when he gave the order. "I would have looked here first, I know this is your usual hideaway for rainy days, but I thought a room full of books you are currently unable to read would be a cold comfort."

"I forgot about my present illiteracy, I must confess."

"You're not illiterate, Elizabeth. You have the knowledge to read, you are just not well enough to do so at this moment in time." It came across as an odd choice of reprimand to Elizabeth, and in her current restless mood she could not help but question him. She needed conversation, a proper conversation, to help with all her pent up energy.

"I can not read. That is one and the same with illiteracy is it not?"

"I would argue not. You can tell me the title of this book, can you not?" Mr. Darcy lifted a book from his desk. Elizabeth nodded, conceding the point, and recognizing the stupidity of her entire argument. But she wanted to talk to him. Properly talk to him. Not formal courtesies and politeness. "You never do cope well with rain," he observed.

"I have no issue with rain. My father always answered my complaints about the weather with a reply about how reliant we are upon the rain falling - to grow the crops in the field, to supply us with clean water - so that I learnt to appreciate it's nourishing properties. It is the lack of freedom I despise."

"You are not a creature born for a cage." Mr. Darcy looked contemplative, he said the words more to himself than her. She knew not how to reply to him. For it was a strange comment for him to have made, even if she could not argue with the truth of his statement.

The silence stretched on. She hated this. This should have been a perfect opportunity to enjoy his company. A brief moment alone where neither the duties of Pemberley were pulling him from her company as they did during the day nor the spectre of the fact she was his wife hung over her as when they were alone in their private quarters. Yet she knew not what to say.

What she wanted more than anything was for him to speak of himself. This man she had once considered as proud and conceited now she wanted nothing more than for him to speak of his life. She collected her facts about him greedily, always wanting to learn more. In this she had found his cousin, and to a lesser extent his sister, an invaluable source of information. Whilst Georgiana was hesitant to talk of her brother without his presence, except for her various glowing reports of how he was the best brother she could wish for, the Colonel had no such qualms, telling Elizabeth story after story of Mr. Darcy at all the stages of his life. After that strange first encounter Elizabeth had properly made the Colonel's acquaintance and she found him a welcoming, jovial man. She thought she could have grown an attachment for him if she was not already fascinated by the more complex character of his cousin. And, of course, already his cousin's wife. As it was she felt towards him the beginning of the same familial fondness she also felt growing for Georgiana. It pleased her to enjoy the company of the two family members Mr. Darcy had told her he considered his closest relatives. Thinking of the Colonel reminded her of the story he had told her of Mr. Darcy yesterday evening.

"Your cousin was telling me the story of Chestnut the kitten after dinner last night whilst you were aiding your sister with her music." She was rewarded with seeing a red blush spread across Mr. Darcy's cheeks.

"I cannot believe Edward told you that story again. You having amnesia has given him the joy of embarrassing me all over again."

"He did seem rather pleased with himself."

"Edward is always pleased with himself." Elizabeth could hear the affection behind the annoyance.

"He is one of those people who is perpetually cheerful. It is hard to imagine him on a battlefield." Mr. Darcy's face fell, and Elizabeth belatedly realized that the fact his cousin risked his life was not a happy thought to him. "But stop trying to distract me. We were discussing Chestnut the kitten. I thought it was a sweet story."

"That it what you said the first time too."

"I rather like the image of a twelve year old Mr. Darcy hiding a baby kitten in his room."

"It was a stray. I thought it might not survive."

"And the purple ribbon?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. "I snuck the kitten into the nursery to show Georgiana, thinking it would amuse her, and she got the thought into her toddler mind that he needed a ribbon for a collar. Chestnut had other ideas and made a run for it. Causing a bit of a stir as he did so, since it's not every day the servants see a kitten running through the halls of Pemberley with their young master chasing after him. He was fast for a kitten!"

Elizabeth smiled at his defensiveness. "Still ruing poor Chestnut, sir?"

"No. Though I feel I would have the right too. No twelve year old boy wants to explain why they were chasing a kitten with a purple ribbon round his neck through their home to their parents. My mother at least found it amusing. My father less so."

"I think it's adorable."

"Then that makes it all worthwhile." Now it was Elizabeth's turn to blush. Mr. Darcy had moved to stand beside her as they talked, and she could not help but be hyper aware of the warmth of his presence beside her. He did not reach out to touch her as she thought he might, to cup her face or take her hand in his own, but she wished he would, if only to defuse the energy that crackled in the self-imposed space between them. She knew she could breach that gap herself, was sure he would utter no complaints if she did, yet her own hands hung awkwardly by her side, unsure of what to do.

"There you both are!" Elizabeth jumped at the sound of the Colonel's voice. She felt Mr. Darcy take a step away from her, turning his attention to his cousin. "Georgiana wanted to suggest to Elizabeth that we take a late luncheon, since no one will be eager to leave the house for any reasons this afternoon, and she herself does not want to disturb her studies. She thought you would be busy holed up in your study?" The last was clearly a question aimed at Mr. Darcy. After a few seconds passed in which it was clear he was not planning to answer Elizabeth took it upon herself to reply.

"That sounds like an excellent notion. Where can I find her?"

"The music room."

Elizabeth curtsied to both gentlemen before taking her leave.

"We were just discussing Chestnut the kitten," she told the Colonel as she walked away, a smile playing upon her lips.

"Yes, thank you for sharing that story, Edward. Again."

"My pleasure, Cousin."

Elizabeth heard no more of their conversation as she shut the library door behind her. To Elizabeth's great joy she made it to the music room without getting lost or having to ask a footman for directions. She did not recognize the song Georgiana played as she entered, and the young woman's fingers stilled upon the keys when she noticed Elizabeth's presence.

"I came to tell you I agree with the idea of a late luncheon. I shall inform Mrs. Reynolds."

"Edward already sent a footman with the message. I did tell him to wait till we had your agreement." The last sentence rushed out in a spill of words.

"What were you practicing?"

"A rather recent favourite of Fitzwilliam's. I wanted to play it for him tonight. It was a favourite of yours, too." It still surprised Elizabeth every time she was informed of her own preferences. She could not help but notice the small smile Georgiana shared with her companion, Mrs. Annesley, who sat on the music bench with her. It gave her the strangest notion that sweet little Georgiana was up to something.

"May I hear it?"

Georgiana shook her head, not meeting Elizabeth's eyes.

"Miss. Darcy wants to surprise yourself and Mr. Darcy tonight, ma'am," Mrs. Annesley informed her, clearly aware of her charge's discomfort.

"Then I shall leave you to your practice." Upon leaving the music room Elizabeth realised she was once more at a loss. She could hear the rain still hammering the sides of Pemberley and she once more had no idea what to do with her time. What did the Mistress of Pemberley do to fill her time? So far all of Elizabeth's time seemed to have been made up with re-learning what she had once known.

Out of nowhere Mr. Darcy's words on illiteracy returned to her. She would try to read Jane's letter again. Mr. Darcy was right - she had the knowledge she just had to use it.

Three paragraphs. That was how far she got before throwing the letter onto her writing desk in frustration, her mind feeling like it was trying to make an escape from inside her skull. She knew a little more of Jane's pregnancy. That the baby was due any day now and that Jane was exceedingly happy in her marriage to Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth hugged these facts to herself for comfort. Her world was so very strange right now, but at least Jane's was making perfect sense.

The pounding in her head was making her feel exhausted. Telling herself she would rest for just a few moments whilst she recovered, Elizabeth collapsed fully-clothed onto the bed.

She was awoken by the sound of a woman's voice, as someone shook her awake. "Ma'am? It's time to get dressed for dinner. Mr. Darcy asked me to wake you since you missed luncheon. Unless you would prefer a tray if you are unwell? But Mr. Darcy wishes for you to eat."

Well if Mr. Darcy wishes it then it must be done, she thought peevishly to herself, irritated by the rude awakening. She had been having the most wonderful dream. Herself and Jane had been watching two children play together. Jane's son and Elizabeth's daughter. She tried to remember more of her dream, ignoring the voice that continued to tell her about how Mr. Darcy wished for her to wake up and eat. For what did she care what Mr. Darcy wanted. She did not exist to do the bidding of men like Mr. Darcy. In her dream, Jane's son had been fathered by Mr. Bingley, she remembered that much. She tried to recall who her dreams had chosen as father to her daughter. Before she could the insistent woman shook her again. Still talking of Mr. Darcy of all people. Elizabeth was tempted to fake sleep awhile more, just to annoy this woman and Mr. Darcy. What concern of his was it anyway if she wished to sleep a little longer? And why would anyone who cared for the concerns of Mr. Darcy be in her room anyway? Was she at Netherfield? Curiosity finally pulled Elizabeth from the drowsiness of her sleep to open her eyes and sit up.

Pemberley. She was in her room at Pemberley. The woman looking at her with a worried expression was her lady's maid, Elsie Johnson. For Elizabeth was Mr. Darcy's wife and it very much his concern whether she ate or not. As they did every time she woke the facts of her new life flooded into Elizabeth's mind. The headache this caused was only mild this morning thankfully. Except, Elizabeth recognised, it was evening not morning. She must have fallen asleep after her disastrous attempt at reading Jane's letter.

"Ma'am, are you well? Would you like me to fetch Mr. Darcy?"

"No, thank you, Johnson." Elizabeth plastered a smile she knew was not convincing onto her face. She moved to stand up from the bed.

"Are you sure you are well enough for dinner, Mrs. Darcy? I can have Mrs. Reynolds bring you a tray if you'd prefer?"

For a few moments Elizabeth was tempted by the offer. To hide away from the Darcys and their awkward mealtimes sounded perfect. Then she remembered Georgiana's shy smiles and her mention of a surprise. Besides, Mr. Darcy would worry.

"I am well enough for dinner, thank you. If you could change me for into my evening wear?"

She saw her maid's frown as she stood up and Johnson realised she had slept in her day dress, but her good training meant that the lady's maid remained silent regarding her mistress's bizarre choice of sleepwear. Elizabeth was unusually quiet as Elsie dressed her and fixed her hair. Most days she badgered the maid with all manner of questions regarding Pemberley's staff and running, including a few questions on their reactions and knowledge of what had happened to their mistress. All she had learnt was that the servants had been informed that their mistress was recovering but that as an aftermath of her fall she was suffering from some memory loss and thereby some strange behaviour might be expected and was not to be questioned. Whatever else Johnson knew she did not reveal the servant's gossip to her mistress, and Elizabeth found she could not fault her for that.

Johnson was just finishing Elizabeth's hair when Mr. Darcy entered the room. Unable to turn around under Johnson's twisting hands she watched his reflection in the dresser mirror.

"I am glad you are well enough to attend dinner," he told her. "You were so fast asleep when I came to find you for luncheon it seemed wiser to let you rest." Elizabeth felt a small welling of shame at the thought of prim Mr. Darcy finding her asleep in her day dress in the middle of the afternoon.

"I am much better having rested, thank you, sir." Elizabeth cursed herself that she was once more returning to using formal language. Was this normal for a married couple? Elizabeth only had her parents' marriage to guide her and she did not consider that a particularly good example. For either marriage or normal, and definitely not both.

"That will be all, Johnson," Mr. Darcy told the maid as she finished Elizabeth's hair. She curtseyed to both her employers and left the room. "May I escort you to dinner, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Of course, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied, standing up from the dresser and taking his arm. He continued to ask questions on her health, she suspected her midday nap had him more worried than he was admitting, to which Elizabeth tried to answer as truthfully as she could without distressing him.

Dinner passed much as every dinner at Pemberley had passed for the last week since she had been well enough to attend. The Darcys, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Annesley were all quite comfortable talking amongst themselves but Elizabeth knew not what to say to them or them to her. Despite their best efforts to remember to explain, she still got confused by mention of people she had never heard of and events she did not remember.

Georgiana at least tried after the separation of the sexes, though as usual it was the easy social grace of Mrs. Annesley that helped with her more timid charge. Elizabeth could not help but drop hints about what her surprise was but Georgiana gave nothing away. As usual, Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam rejoined them quite quickly, Mr. Darcy sitting besides Elizabeth as always.

"Can you play for us, Georgiana?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

"Of course." Georgiana jumped up just a little more eagerly than normal Elizabeth observed.

"I was hoping if the rain has stopped tomorrow perhaps we could walk down to Lambton together?" Mr. Darcy said as in the background Georgiana started playing.

Elizabeth felt a thrill of excitement. It would take them a good couple of hours to make the walk there and back. Perhaps Mr. Darcy felt the suffocation of the confides of Pemberley just as much as she did.

"I would like that very much, Mr. Darcy." Mr. Darcy smiled and covered her hand with his larger one, though turning his attention back to his sister's playing. He seemed content to sit there quietly, listening. He had warned her that he could be a man of few words, and it was times like this she saw the truth of that statement.

After a couple of songs the music changed to a song Elizabeth did not recognize, but judging by the quirk of his lips into a semi-smile Mr. Darcy did.

"A waltz, Georgiana?"

"I have been in need of practice, brother, or I would have grown most rusty." Georgiana shot a bright smile at her brother, which, unless Elizabeth was very much mistaken, was her version of hiding a smirk. Mr. Darcy looked bemused, whilst Colonel Fitzwilliam snorted into his tumbler of brandy in an obvious attempt to hide mirth. Elizabeth had the unmistakable, and now recognisable, feeling that she was missing some information about the scene in front of her.

She considered asking but instead she settled for, "I have not heard a waltz before. No matter how the young people of Meryton, my sisters foremost amongst them, begged we were not allowed one at the assembly. A scandalous London invention it was called."

Mr. Darcy and his sister shared a look that told Elizabeth she most certainly had heard a waltz before.

"It is not a London invention," Georgiana told her, and Elizabeth was dazzled by her ability to not miss a key even whilst engaging in the conversation. She was far from rusty. "It was first fashionable in Vienna, in fact. It came to Britain, however, from France, brought home by the officers who had fought Napoleon there." She gave a nod of recognition to her cousin. "They played it at Almack's last season."

Elizabeth was beginning to suspect that this was the song Georgiana had stopped playing when she had espied Elizabeth's presence in the music room earlier.

"The waltz is a wonderful dance is it not, Darcy?" The words were said casually but just like Georgiana earlier she had a notion the Colonel was smirking on the inside.

"With the right partner it is."

Elizabeth recognised an offer when she saw one. "Would you teach me how to waltz, Mr. Darcy?"

"I'd be delighted." Standing up together he walked her to the centre of the room. Taking one hand in his own, and placing the other on her back he pulled her near him. It was the closest she had been to him since the night she first awoken and he had held her close in his relief. The heat where his hand held her close blazed through the thin material of her evening dress and she heard nothing he said to her, too distracted by his nearness, and his maleness. She told herself to listen, but she still she found herself watching his mouth form the words rather than listening to them.

"Elizabeth, do you want to try?"

She mentally shook herself. You're acting ridiculous, she scolded internally.

"Can you repeat that last part?"

"I think it's easier to show you. Just follow my lead." And suddenly she was dancing with him, and though she fumbled some of the steps she soon learnt the pattern. The last time she had danced with Mr. Darcy she had wanted nothing more than to get away from him, but now she revelled in it. She did not want to stop. She felt the same fizzling of energy from earlier, her heartbeat racing, and she wanted to do nothing more than move closer to him. But instead she kept dancing, appreciating the contentment on his face, the twinkle of appreciation in his eyes. When he twirled her around she giggled in surprised delight. The song seemed to last forever, and from this Elizabeth knew she had an ally in her new sister, until eventually it had to stop. She felt Mr. Darcy let go off her and yet she found herself unwilling to allow him to separate from her. When she rested her head against his chest, she felt his arms encircle her once more and his chin settle against the top of his head. She could hear his heartbeat, feel the fall and rise of the chest as he breathed, smell the soap he had washed with. Somewhere in the background she could hear Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam talking and she knew she was making a scene but she did not want to move. She'd had it with propriety. If this was how she said Mrs. Darcy acted then this was how Mrs. Darcy acted. She did not know how long she had stood there, luxuriating in the warm solid presence of Mr. Darcy against her, when she felt him move away. Slowly, reluctantly, but still he moved away. Elizabeth knew why and understood, even if she did not like it. The moment was over and she had to return to the real world.

She took a step away from Mr. Darcy, daring a glance at their companions, but Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam were engrossed in their own conversation. Trying to listen in to distract herself from Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth did not understand a word of what they were discussing. She gathered the Colonel was teasing his cousin by the fact she had turned a rosy red colour.

"Edward, why are you discussing the ancient African practice of voodoo with my sister?" It was hard to tell if Mr. Darcy was amused or annoyed at his cousin. Though Mr. Darcy obviously had understand the conversation his comment made the matter no clearer to Elizabeth.

"What exactly is the ancient African practice of voodoo?"

"Ask Georgiana," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. "Since she appears to be a practitioner."

The Colonel looked very satisfied with himself for this line, whilst Georgiana was caught between mortification and irritation, if the almost-glare she directed at her cousin followed by a very close study of her own hands was any indication. As for Mr. Darcy, he looked just as confused as Elizabeth by this comment.

"I think it might just be better not to ask, my dear," Elizabeth told him with a smile, taking his hand into hers once more. Then she realised what she had said.


	9. A Mysterious Woman

**Chapter 9 - A Mysterious Woman**

Much to Elizabeth's delight the rain had indeed stopped the next day, and Mr. Darcy asked her as they were breaking their fast if she still wished to walk to Lambton with him. Elizabeth agreed easily and so it was she found herself on his arm walking away from Pemberley. She felt a burden lifting from her as she walked, even though Mr. Darcy stayed unusually quiet as he walked beside her. Or at least quieter than she had grown to expect from him on their walks.

"I am looking forward to seeing Lambton," she told him. "My Aunt Gardiner grew up here and always spoke highly of it."

"I am glad to hear it. I think you shall find it a pleasant town. Yes, I do enjoy discussing Derbyshire with your aunt. She has local stories that I have never heard before. My favourite being that of Mr. Thomas, whose son is now a footman at Pemberley, the one who helped you find the parlour last week."

"The rather tall lad with the orange hair?"

"The very same. He cuts a memorable figure, does he not?" Elizabeth smiled her agreement. "But anyway Mr. Thomas was the blacksmith here in Lambton, around the time I was born and your aunt was a young girl. A traveller came through with a horse that had lost his shoe, and Mr. Thomas set to his work. It would have been an ordinary moment of an ordinary day, except that when Mr. Thomas and this traveller got to speaking of the horse, as you can imagine they would, the traveller mentioned the horse's temper, and that he allowed no other rider but himself."

"I have the strangest suspicion Mr. Thomas took it upon himself to prove this traveller wrong."

"You would be correct. A wager was made. Soon news spread throughout the town, and Mr. Thomas had quite the audience gathered round to watch his attempt, your aunt and her brother amongst them."

"My aunt does not speak of her brother often." Elizabeth had only ever met Aunt Gardiner's elder brother once, as a child when they had both attended the Gardiners' wedding, for a year later he had been killed serving aboard one of the ships of Her Majesty's navy against Napoleon. "She must have a great confidence in you to speak of him."

Mr. Darcy gave a sad smile. "As I have said the Gardiners are amongst my favourite family members, I am more than pleased that you should feel the notion reciprocated." Elizabeth felt a small joy at this reminder of how wrong she had been about Mr. Darcy's prejudice. She would have to write to Aunt Gardiner as soon as she was well enough to do so. The elder woman would no doubt have good counsel to give her.

"But we were speaking of Mr. Thomas the blacksmith?" Elizabeth wished to move the conversation back to a happier topic. "And a horse that throws anyone but its owner. An excellent protection from horse thieves I would imagine."

Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Indeed I would think so. Yet Mr. Thomas was a determined man."

"Determined or stubborn?"

"Are they not one and the same on most occasions?"

"I suppose it could be argued so."

"Well, whether you wish to call him determined or stubborn, Mr. Thomas tried to keep his seat on that fractious horse. And was promptly thrown. So he tried again. And was thrown again. So it went on for three more attempts. The traveller tried to convince him to stop, as did many of the watching townspeople. So he said he'd have one last try, and, lo and behold, he held his seat."

"You consider that a good trait then? Undeterred stubbornness."

"I admire someone who does not give up. Mr. Thomas won his wager, and when next your aunt and her brother went to play with his children, they each had a new toy."

That last part made Elizabeth smile. "It was still a silly risk though. He could have been permanently hurt."

"I suppose. I am not one for taking risks, I must admit."

"You married me. Many would call that risky."

"I call it the smartest thing I ever did." Here he leaned across to plant a soft kiss to her forehead. A nearby giggle reminded them that this was not a private road, though Mr. Darcy was all smiles to the two young girls now pretending to look in the opposite direction.

"You will cause quite the scandal. The great Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, kissing women in the middle of the path for all to see."

"A chaste kiss to the forehead is hardly the most scandalous we've been in public, now is it, my dear Elizabeth?"

Mr. Darcy grinned knowingly at her, the expression quickly fading as realisation dawned on him that she was clueless to what he meant.

To break the suddenly awkward atmosphere, Elizabeth chose to tease."Well, well, sir. Is it not?"

"I am not shy of my affection with you. Let us leave it there." This time he kissed her on the cheek. The little girls had been left further down the street, but Elizabeth was fairly certain the maid who had just passed by them was smothering a smile.

No amount of teasing on Elizabeth's part could make Mr. Darcy expand upon his earlier comment but now that she had gotten him talking Elizabeth found the conversation flowed as always and she luxuriated in the openness. She wanted to skip or dance down the lane but did not imagine Mr. Darcy would appreciate this, especially if the tight grip he kept on her arm was any indication.

When they arrived in Lambton, Mr. Darcy offered her a quick tour. He had some deliveries to collect from the post office (Elizabeth could not help but wonder that he had chosen to come with her rather than send a servant for such a mundane task) but other than that, he told her, he was at her leisure.

"And don't come back, you liar!" Both of them were distracted by this loud shout from the grocer, aimed at the woman he had just pushed out of his shop. Her clothes were shabby, dirt coated the bottom of her skirts, and Elizabeth could see at least one rip in her dress. Her hair was a wild tangle of knots that roamed free without a bonnet. Elizabeth had the strangest sense of recognition, that she knew this woman somehow, but the woman's back was turned to her and she could not see her face.

"Mr. Darcy? Who is that?"

"I do not know. She is not one of Pemberley's tenant. We would not let any of them be driven to such a state." She heard a hint of the pride he had warned her off in his voice, but it did not stir her ire as it would have done. He took good care of his tenants, that was a fact from which he was allowed to take some pride.

"I think I know her." Elizabeth strained to think where she could know such a woman from but was greeted with the usual nothingness.

"I doubt that, Elizabeth. She is not the type of woman my wife would mix with." This time his conceit did frustrate Elizabeth. Though she resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at him in order to continue watching the woman, hoping for a glimpse of her face. Mr. Darcy, however, was already walking away, and Elizabeth, her arm still tucked into his, had no choice but to follow him.

"Have I undertaken charity work amongst the poor?"

"Of course. Yourself, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley regularly take baskets to the poorer members of the community."

"Perhaps I know her from that then?"

"Perhaps. Elizabeth, I beseech you do not worry over this. Judging by Mr. Overton's shouts she is not a woman worth worrying over."

"But I know her, I am sure of it. I think she has some importance."

"I cannot see why she would."

Elizabeth sighed in frustration. She could see where Mr. Darcy's nonchalant attitude stemmed from, it did not make any sense that some bedraggled woman would hold such importance to her, yet she could not shake off the notion that she did. That she had seen the woman before now, that if she only thought hard enough she would recognise the connection, amnesia or not. But why would anyone in Lambton have any connection to her prior to her loss of memory? She had no recollection of anyone here. Yet she could not deny that she felt a trigger to some memory of hers, one not lost in the quicksand of her broken mind, and she tried desperately to place it.

Elizabeth stumbled as a dizzy spell overtook her. She felt Mr. Darcy's strong grip on her arm, and she followed where his movements took her instinctively, but the world spun around her, and when her legs hit the welcome solidness of a bench she appreciatively collapsed down onto it. She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing. A wave of sound washed over: horses and carts trundling past, the fall of footsteps, the whooshing of the wind, Mr. Darcy's concerned queries, a baby crying, and a voice shouting. She knew that voice!

Her eyes darted open and she tried to stand, but Mr. Darcy blocked her way. She tried to push past him but he maintained his grip on her arms, and Elizabeth's felt her spurt of energy draining away.

"We should go back," he told her, his voice laced with concern. "I've had the carriage following us, I'll go fetch it." As he pushed her back down onto the bench its sturdy solidness underneath her once more brought her relief. She heard him shout out a name she did not know and ask this person to watch her, and then he was gone. She saw a spread of pink skirt sit beside her, but she could not bring herself to look up at this woman, or to do anything other then close her eyes and pray for the nausea she felt to pass alongside the terrible march inside her head.

Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.

The soldiers in her head could not be stopped or slowed. She wished she could march with them, to move anywhere. But she couldn't breath. The world pressed in on her. She wanted it to leave her alone. So many voices and noises. Leave her be! She wanted her bed. She wanted to be back at Pemberley. For weeks she had felt it like a cage that trapped her but now she saw it was a warm cocoon that kept her safe. She wanted home.

The noise faded away, she could feel her brain shutting itself down and for one terrible moment Elizabeth wondered if she would ever wake up again. But that could not happen. She had not even gotten a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Darcy.

"Elizabeth?" He was back. Oh thank God he was back! Helping her up, supporting her weight, muttering comfort.

"I never even got to tell you I," she whispered to him, but before she could finish her thought out loud she finally succumbed to the mercy of silence from the drumbeats. She fainted.

When she first awoke she could feel the rocking of the carriage, and hear the rattling of the wheels and the clopping of the horses' hooves. As her brain slowly placed the pieces together she sat up and opened her eyes, looking for her husband.

He was sat on the seat opposite her, as far away as possible. She waited for him to speak, to ask after her health, or mutter in relief. Instead he studied her intently.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked her.

"In the carriage back to Pemberley, I assume."

"You remember what happened then? In Lambton?"

"Yes. Did I faint?"

Mr. Darcy moved to sit next to her, holding her close. Elizabeth sighed in relief at his closeness.

"I was worried you may have forgotten again. I did not want to startle you."

"No. I remember the past two weeks. The year before that, unfortunately, is still a blank."

If Mr. Darcy was disappointed by that news he did not show it, only murmuring "Let us be content with small mercies."

"I do not know what came over me. I have been feeling much healthier recently. My headaches had all but gone."

"I should not have pushed you to walk so far."

"Do not blame yourself, I implore you, I was exceedingly excited for our walk. And I was enjoying myself until my unfortunate spell of ill health." Though she thought of the mysterious dishevelled woman. That had truly been when her trip turned sour. Her weird certainty that she should recognise her alongside Mr. Darcy's cold dismissive attitude.

"Still I do not think you should walk such a distance for quite some time."

"We will still take our daily walks, will we not?"

"Of course." Mr. Darcy placed a small kiss to her cheek. Elizabeth could not help but notice he was being more openly affectionate than he had been previously. "Elizabeth," she noticed the caution with which he said her name, it had become a fairly common sound to her , "before you fainted, you started saying something to me. Do you remember what it was?"

Elizabeth remembered her dramatic thoughts on dying and how she had not gotten a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Darcy, but she could not remember what she had said or tried to say in those last moments of consciousness.

"No. What did I say?" What would she have said with such thoughts as she'd had swirling through her brain. Had she tried to say goodbye?

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "It does not matter." She was sure she did not imagine the pain in his voice, or his face, no matter how he tried to act casually.

"Obviously it does, sir, or you would have not brought up the matter"

Mr. Darcy sighed. The carriage was slowing. If Elizabeth was to learn what she had said to upset him so much she had to do it now.

"You promised to tell me everything, Mr. Darcy." A somewhat underhand trick, she knew, but she had to learn what was on his mind.

The carriage slowed to a stop. "We're home," Mr. Darcy told her, ignoring her previous point. The coachman opened the door, and Mr. Darcy stepped out, then held out his hand to help Elizabeth. Reluctantly, she followed. Holding her arm close, Mr. Darcy started to walk slowly towards the house. How ironic that when she had felt faint she had wanted nothing more than to be back home at Pemberley but now the elegant walls of Pemberley House loomed over her like a prison. She had this terrible premonition that she would enter and never come back out again. Ridiculous, she knew, not five minutes earlier Mr. Darcy had promised her they would still take their walks. Yet a steely cold dread wrapped itself around her and she halted to a stop. Letting go off Mr. Darcy's arm she turned to look at the sprawling grounds of Pemberley, her eyes falling on the woods beyond the formal gardens. Somewhere out there she had taken her fall. She had the growing determination that the answers laid out there. What had she seen to distract her?

Mr. Darcy still stood beside her looking worried. Every time she had asked him about her fall he had clammed up, not wishing to talk about it, and she knew it was because it was a horrific memory for him.

As the aching in her head began to grow again Elizabeth turned back to the house, accepting that nothing would help her more now than to rest. Mr. Darcy re-offered his arm with obvious relief. She wanted to ask him once more about her fall. About what she had seen. But she held her questions to herself and they walked in silence to her chambers. Declaring herself tired, he left her in Johnson's capable hand with another kiss to her cheek. Once dressed in her nightwear she gratefully climbed into bed and fell asleep instantly.

She woke up just as instantly, jolting awake and springing up. She sat up in the bed, her breathing heavy, her head pounding. But she closed her eyes and fought through the pain to try to remember what she had just dreamed. The woman from Lambton. Being at home in Longbourn. Walking with Mr. Darcy. The latter two were common occurrences in her dreams. But this time was different and she strained to remember why.

The woods. She had been walking through the woods with Mr. Darcy. He had never taken her there on her walks, no doubt because of what had happened on that last walk they had taken there. They had been walking together, and she had been looking round, taking in all the sights of Pemberley in springtime bloom. Then something had caught her eye, shocked her, and that was what had awoken her in such a state. What had it been? What had she seen? For all her effort this part of her dream was as hard to recall as her memories.

But then was this a memory? Elizabeth felt a thrill of excitement. It was so similar to what Mr. Darcy had said had happened. Perhaps it was just based on what he had told her, she told herself, trying to prevent herself from being too optimistic. But she could not help it. Had she truly remembered something?

Was the clue to unlocking her memories out there in the grounds of Pemberley?


	10. A Search

**Chapter 10 - A Search**

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked up at the sound of the library door opening, he was surprised to see Elizabeth. Especially once he realised she had come alone, without Darcy or Georgiana by her side. For that had become the norm after her turn for the worse in Lambton last week had left her bedridden for long periods of time.

He was even more surprised when, after the customary greetings and polite enquiries, she announced she wished to be taken to see the doctor.

"Can you not ask Darcy to summon him here?"

"I do not wish to bother Mr. Darcy with the matter."

"I am sure my cousin would not consider a concern over your health a bother, Mrs. Darcy."

Elizabeth hesitated, biting her lip. "You could be argued to be the person who knows Mr. Darcy the best, could you not, Colonel?"

"Yourself aside, yes, I would suppose that is true. Why do you ask?"

She hesitated once more. "I think I may have remembered something. And I have an idea as to how I might remember more. I wish to talk to Dr. Smith in regards to my theory."

"Which is?"

She shook her head. "You'll think me silly."

"I doubt that, Mrs. Darcy. What I do find confusing, however, is why we are having this conversation. Rather than your husband and yourself."

"I do not want to give Mr. Darcy false hope. And I do not think he would approve of my idea."

"Of speaking to the doctor? I see no reason why he would disapprove of that idea."

"No. My theory on how to get my memories back."

"So you have no intention of telling him?" She had the good grace to look ashamed. "And may I ask, Mrs. Darcy, how you planned to get to Lambton to see the doctor without Darcy realizing? You must know that the servants are aware of your condition, and no doubt have been given orders that you are not to leave Pemberley unless you are accompanied by Darcy."

"Have they?" Elizabeth enquired.

"He is worried for your safety. We all are."

"Of course. I am sorry I bothered you, Colonel, enjoy the rest of your day." Before he could say anything else she curtseyed and left the room.

Fitzwilliam stared after the closed door with an apprehension growing in his stomach. Elizabeth's casual attitude did not fool him for a second. She was up to something, something she did not want Darcy to know about, and that did not bode well with him.

He remembered the letter he had received from his commanding officer whilst breaking his fast with Georgiana, Darcy being the earlier riser that he was had not been present. The news that he needed to return to his regiment within the next two weeks did not disturb him as much as it would have done only a fortnight previously, for though Elizabeth's health had taken a setback at least he could leave with the comforting knowledge that he had left Darcy and her on the right track towards returning to their marital bliss with one and other. Still he had not shared the news with Georgiana, wishing to speak with Darcy first. But Darcy was out in the fields somewhere with his steward - a fact Fitzwilliam had purposefully neglected to mention to Elizabeth just then - leaving Fitzwilliam to contemplate his best plan of action alone in the library. Until Elizabeth's arrival he had as good as decided he would leave for Matlock in two days, spend the last few days of his leave with his family, and then report for duty. But Elizabeth's bizarre behaviour had made him less convinced of that plan. Why was she so reluctant to speak to Darcy?

It was after a lonely luncheon - Elizabeth and Georgiana having eaten early without him - that Fitzwilliam heard that Darcy had returned and he headed to his cousin's study. He was still debating whether to mention Elizabeth's earlier behaviour to his cousin, but he still needed to speak of his leaving soon regardless.

"You look troubled, Darcy." This was the last thing Fitzwilliam needed with his current worries about Elizabeth.

"It's this woman."

"Elizabeth's mystery woman?"

"I took a diverted route back to Pemberley today, via Mr. Overton's grocery shop. I asked about a woman I had seen him shouting at last week when I visited Lambton."

"And what did he know of her?"

"She asked to set up a tab whilst she visited family in the area. Mr. Overton was suspicious of her, but took pity on her for her child, thinking it would be an isolated incident. But she kept coming back, looking less prosperous each time, so he asked around, and none of the gossips of Lambton had heard of her, nor could anyone say who she was staying with or say they had heard of her name." On the last part Darcy managed to sound amused and Fitzwilliam give him a querying look. "Oh, her name is my favourite part," Darcy joked darkly. "I didn't figure it out until I wrote it down. Let's see if you can."

"Is that an intellectual challenge, Cousin? It is not often I best you in those but perhaps today will be the day."

"Tenneb."

"Ten-what-now?"

"Tenneb. Kitty Tenneb."

"That does not sound like a real name, Darcy. Are you sure it's not what someone's called their cat?" He put on a silly high pitched voice. "Here, here, Kitty Tenneb, lovely bit of milk for you, oh, who's a good pussycat?" Dropping back to his normal voice he continued, "That sounds more likely than anyone being called Mrs. Kitty Tenneb."

"Yes, well if it is who I suspect it is she is not the cleverest woman I have ever met."

Fitzwilliam waited for his cousin to expand, and when Darcy didn't he gave an over-exaggerated sigh. "Fine, you have proven yourself my intellectual superior. Again. Now, do share."

"I did say it took me seeing it written down, " Darcy replied, passing Fitzwilliam a piece of paper. He glanced at the name written there and after a few seconds realisation dawned.

"Bennet! It's Bennet written backwards. Darcy, what in heaven's name is going on here? Elizabeth has a sister called Kitty, doesn't she? She was at your wedding. Pretty girl but very young? Definitely too young to flutter her eyelashes and smile at me like she did?"

"That would be the one. But I would think if Kitty Bennet was missing I would have heard from Longbourn. There is nothing to suggest that she is any where other than at home awaiting news of Mrs. Bingley's confinement, nor to suggest she would be accompanied by a child. My guess would be her younger sister using Kitty's name, and a very uncreative version of her own maiden name."

"Her younger sister. Have I met her? I must confess I lose track of your new sisters."

"No, you have not met the youngest sister. Be glad."

"Ah!" Recognition dawned on the Colonel."Yes, the youngest sister would be Mrs. Wickham, would it not? I have not had that, um, pleasure. But why is Lydia Wickham in Lambton?"

"My guess would be to fleece more money from her sister."

"Then why not come to Pemberley? Why rack up debt at the grocer's under a terrible false name?"

"I've kept outsider knowledge of the extent of Elizabeth's amnesia to a minimum. If she did not know what her sister does and does not remember, she might hesitate before contacting her."

"But how long could she have been here? And how could she have learnt of Mrs. Darcy's accident?"

"I do not know but I have a suspicion. Lydia first visited Mr. Overton the day after Elizabeth's accident. I do not think that was her original plan. Elizabeth saw something that day before she fell. Something that surprised her. I am sure of it. And though I did not believe her at first when she said she knew that woman in Lambton, if that woman is Mrs. Wickham, then she could have been here since the day of Elizabeth's fall…" Darcy's speech trailed off, but it was clear what he was suggesting.

"I still do not understand where she could have been these last few weeks if she's been here in Derbyshire this entire time."

"Pemberley's grounds are large - it'd be easy enough to hide here. She wouldn't be the first squatters we've had. That's always been the problem with keeping the woods but I never could bring myself to cut them down. Even now."

"From all you've told me of Mrs. Wickham I can not imagine her living feral in the woods. What would drive a woman like her, vain and material, to such an act?"

"Desperation."

"But what could have made her so desperate?"

"George Wickham." Darcy's face grew dark at the mention of his old childhood friend, and Fitzwilliam felt the familiar flicker of hatred. His anger did not run quite as deep as Darcy's, but what the man had done to Georgiana was still unforgivable.

Fitzwilliam conceded that point. Still he struggled to comprehend the notion of a teenage gentlewoman (even if she was not much of one) living wild in the woods of Pemberley. Especially one whose sister was Mistress of Pemberley.

"Are you sure it is Mrs. Wickham we are dealing with?"

"Do you think Tenneb is a real last name?" Darcy asked archly.

"It's a bloody big coincidence if it is," Fitzwilliam muttered. He could think of no other explanation, yet this one made no sense. It asked more questions than it answered.

"We have to find her," Darcy announced. "Not just for Elizabeth's sake either, Mr. Overton mentioned a babe."

"Poor child."

"I shall fetch Harrison and we shall organise the male servants into a search party."

Within 10 minutes Harrison, Darcy's steward, was stood in his master's study trying - and failing - to hide his confusion at this new set of orders.

"And Mrs. and Miss. Darcy, sir?"

"I would prefer they were not informed of the situation for now, Harrison."

"Should we wait until they've returned from their walk before starting the search then, sir?"

"Their walk, Harrison?" Darcy looked baffled. Fitzwilliam remembered Elizabeth's faked nonchalant exit earlier and felt his stomach drop. What was she undertaking, and how had she gotten Georgiana entangled in it?

"William saw them leaving about a hour ago. We thought since Miss. Darcy was with her you must be aware." Harrison had the look of a man who was quickly figuring out he had been extremely wrong.

"No. I wasn't." Darcy's words were clipped, as he tried to hide the swell of emotion he was clearly feeling. Though he hide them well enough that Fitzwilliam could not tell what they were. Anger? Upset? Worried? Betrayed? "Well, they won't have gone far. Miss. Darcy at least knows better than that. I shall fetch them and bring them in whilst you rally all the male servants."

"And I shall help you with your search," Fitzwilliam announced.

"Thank you, Cousin." Darcy graced him with a tired smile. "There's an old abandoned ground keeper's cottage half a mile down the eastern track, if I had to guess where would be best to hide within Pemberley's ground then that would be it."

"I shall check there first then."

Darcy turned back to Harrison. "If a woman is found I want her brought straight here to my study and myself fetched immediately."Harrison nodded his understanding, his serious facial expression reflecting his master's. "I intend to bring Mrs. and Miss. Darcy into the house immediately. I imagine it will take you longer to gather and strategise everyone so leave as soon as you are ready. I leave it in your capable hands." With a nod at each man Darcy left the room in search of his wife and sister.

It did indeed take awhile to organise the male servants into a search party, though the Colonel's military training came in useful, and finally everyone had been given a description of Mrs. Wickham (though not her name), an area of Pemberley to search, a partner to search with, and the order to bring her straight back to Pemberley House and the master's study should they find her. Many of the men looked questioning but decided against asking whatever questions were on their mind.

Fitzwilliam and Harrison, leading the search party, had not taken five steps outside of Pemberley's servants' entrance when they, and those spilling out behind them, were distracted by the sight of Darcy pacing round the servants' yard in a fit of nervous energy. The harried look on his face when he glanced up at their arrival told Fitzwilliam more bad news was coming. Where were Elizabeth and Georgiana?

Leaving Harrison to control the curious servants, Fitzwilliam pulled his cousin aside and asked him exactly that question.

"I do not know. I've searched the entire gardens twice. Why would they wander off without telling me?" Fitzwilliam felt his already twisted stomach drop a little further. "Where would they go?"

"I cannot imagine they've left Pemberley. No doubt Elizabeth just wanted to walk for longer and further." The lie rolled easily off his tongue. No point in worrying Darcy now when he was already so agitated. "Well, luckily, we already have a search part organised."

"No! I don't want the entire staff knowing of this."

"They already know she's ill. And if they are at Pemberley then we will find them anyway whilst searching for Mrs. Wickham."

"You're right. But there's no need to say we're looking for them." Darcy turned to the gathering servants. "You may come across Mrs. and Miss. Darcy during your search, they chose to partake in a walk before this current matter came to light. If you should happen across them, please escort them back to Pemberley House immediately." A chorus of 'yes, sir' greeted this proclamation. Men began to walk away in every direction.

"I have an idea where Elizabeth might have wanted to visit. If I go there, you will check the abandoned cottage for Mrs. Wickham?" Darcy asked Fitzwilliam, who nodded and clapped his cousin on the shoulder before walking away towards the eastern track Darcy had mentioned.

His thoughts were full of questions. Where would Elizabeth go? How did she plan to attempt to regain her memories? And how did her sister fit into all of this mess?

He soon saw the derelict cottage Darcy had mentioned, the walls were crumbling and covered with moss and ivy, the roof had several gaping holes, none of the windows had survived and the door was barely hanging onto its hinges. Could Mrs. Wickham truly be in such a place?

He opened the door carefully and felt a numb surprise upon espying a woman sitting on an old rotting wooden chair. By her clothes and hair she could only be the woman Darcy had described, but was this woman Mrs. Wickham? She was talking to the child sat in her lap, promising the young girl that she had a plan and all would be well. The girl was a scrawny creature, all skin and bones, her hair knotted and dirty.

"And we shall have fine clothes, and a carriage, and you shall grow up to go to balls and marry a rich man! Does that not sound wonderful, Georgiana?"

Fitzwilliam felt goose pimples rise on his skin at the sound of the girl's name. It could not be! Wickham would not have named his daughter that!

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat to gain the woman's attention. She jumped out of the chair, holding her daughter close to her. When she turned and he saw her face for the first time he recognised the slight resemblance to Elizabeth, hidden though it was beneath by the dirt and her air of unkemptness.

"Mrs. Lydia Wickham, I presume?" He saw a flash of fear in her face at the sound of her name.

"And who are you?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service." He bowed but could not help but feel that such manners were more a mockery in the present circumstance.

"Shouldn't a officer be wearing a red coat? I did always like an officer in a red coat." She gave an odd hollow laugh.

"I am on leave from my regiment at the moment."

"Visiting Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, and Mrs. Darcy. Your sister?"

"How is she? I heard she was unwell."

"She is recovering."

"And her memories?" Mrs. Wickham could not quite hide her eagerness to know the answer to this question.

"Are not back. She would still know who you are though. Would you not like to come back to Pemberley House and see her? And she would no doubt like to meet her niece." He had not expected another flicker of fear at this but she stepped away from him, shaking her head. What did she have to fear at Pemberley House?

"They do not need to know I'm here, Colonel. It could be our little secret." She stepped closer again, placing her daughter down on the broken chair. Fluttering her eyelashes and smiling, a grotesque version of her sister, Kitty's, behaviour at Darcy's wedding. She stopped only a hair's breath away from him. "I could make it worth your while," she whispered in his ear. Her breath was hot against his skin. This close he could smell her, a mixture of old sweat, and damp, and the very woods she had been living in. Her eyes glanced downwards in a manner that made her meaning very clear. Instinctively, Fitzwilliam took a step away from her. He was not sure if it was her derelict state of dress, her forward manner, or the sheer fact of who she was that revolted him most.

"I have to take you back to Pemberley House. Please do not make this any more difficult than necessary, Mrs. Wickham."

"No! I won't go! I won't! I'll kick and I'll scream and you'll have to drag me there!" She was backing away from him again, scooping her daughter up once more, until she was flat against the damp stone wall.

"What do you have to fear at Pemberley House, Mrs. Wickham? Your sister is there."

"And so is Mr. Darcy." Mrs. Wickham spat his name in disgust.

"Darcy is not a threat to you, Mrs. Wickham. You are his sister now, too."

"Ha! And some brother he's been to me!"

"Without Darcy you would be ruined." Even as the words left his mouth Fitzwilliam realised they held little weight given her current circumstance.

"More ruined than this?" She gave that odd little hollow laugh again.

"I do not know what brought you to be living in a ruined cottage, Mrs. Wickham, but the fault does not lay at Darcy's door. You made your own bed to lay in when you chose to lay in Wickham's." She did not even blink at his coarseness. Nor did she respond. He waited a few moments for her to reply and when she did not he decided to return to his main course of business once more."We should be off, Mrs. Wickham."

"No!" She continued to shake her head frantically at him. Then she had a sudden thought. "Lizzy! I want Lizzy!"

"Mrs. Darcy is at Pemberley House. You can see her there." At least Fitzwilliam hoped she was.

"Ha! Mrs. Darcy. Have you ever heard a better joke than that?"

"I cannot say I see the humour there, Mrs. Wickham."

"Well, you wouldn't. You are a friend of Mr. Darcy's after all."

"Cousin, actually."

"Oh even better! And you think I'd go anywhere with you?"

"You do realise you are currently trespassing on Pemberley's grounds?"

"Is that a threat, sir?"

"I do not want to threaten you, Mrs. Wickham. I have to say I do not understand your reluctance. A warm house and bed, food for you and your child, clean clothes. Why are so insistent you want none of that?"

She scoffed. "Your cousin!"

"Why are you scared of Darcy?"

"He'll send me back to Newcastle at the click of his heartless fingers!"

"You do not know that. You must have a genuine reason for leaving your home and your husband, Darcy will listen."

"Please, sir, I beg you. Leave me be!" But though her desperate begging continued, Mrs. Wickham seemed to deflate then, surrendering. This worried Fitzwilliam more than her earlier shouting.

"Just tell me why not."

She stood in silence for over a minute, eyes flickering all over the dilapidated room as though planning an escape, until she realized she had none and she had to answer. For the first time she looked him full in the eyes.

"He hurt my sister," she whispered. "He pushed her. I saw it."


	11. A Sister

**Chapter 11 - A Sister**

It had not worked. Elizabeth stared at the crimson-stained rocks, the stain faded where the rain, and before that some poor servant, had tried to scrub them clean, but it did not help her. Though she knew the blood that stained the rocks had belonged to her she felt detached from this fact. She was aware that it was truth but in the same way that she was aware of the fact that the people of France had held a revolution. It was a factual event but it had happened to other people in a different time. That blood had belonged to a different person.

She remembered her dream that she had thought a memory and she was sure this was the right place. It matched. It had indeed been a memory. But she could remember no more now than she had five minutes previously before she had ever set eyes on the place. Crimson-stained rocks aside, it was such an idyllic place, a grassy hill dotted with trees raising up out of Pemberley's woodland. The climb looked steep but not challenging, not for her. Hard to imagine that near tragedy would strike in such a place.

Hitching her skirts up she started marching up the hill's incline, hoping that if she reached the point where she had fallen, where she had looked to the lands spread out below her and seen something, she would remember at least what that something had been. It had to work. She could not bear the idea of this being a wasted trip. That she had defied Mr. Darcy, and made Georgiana do so to, for nothing.

Georgiana called after her, not such a strong walker she trailed behind Elizabeth. Elizabeth felt the now familiar twist of guilt at her presence. She had not wanted to make Mr. Darcy's loyal sister defy him, but she needed someone with knowledge of Pemberley, and she excused it with the same reasoning that had convinced Georgiana to help her, it would all be worth it if she got her memories back. Nothing would please Mr. Darcy more, and he would care not how she had managed it. But now it was appearing more and more like she had lead them on a fool's mission and it made her want to scream out loud in frustration.

She came to a stop three quarters of the way to the top of the hill. It felt right. She strained hard to remember, and welcomed the headache this caused. For it was a sign there was something to remember, that her mind was trying its hardest. This was the spot where she had stopped, and looked across at the view of Pemberley's woods spreading below her, and seen... and seen... something. Her headache continued to increase but still she fought to remember.

"Elizabeth!" Georgiana had finally caught up with her. "We should go. You do not look well." She felt Georgiana's grip on her arm, stronger than she expected. She knew if she should faint as she had in Lambton then she was in trouble, for there was no waiting carriage and no Mr. Darcy to carry her. Yet she was so close, she could feel it on the prefatory of her mind, just out of her grasp, teasing her.

She had to remember. This could not all be for nothing.

"At least sit down," Georgiana pleading, her voice but a small whisper in the back of Elizabeth's mind as she forced herself to remain in her memory. Walking up the hill, looking down across the woods and…

Her knees obeyed the slight downwards pressure on her shoulder and she felt the grass against her skirt as she sat in a huddle on the hill, submitting to the logic behind it. It would do no one any good if she fell again. God knows what year she would think it was when she awoke from that. What else would she forgot? Who else would she forget? Her parents? Her sisters? Her aunt and uncle?

Her sisters...

She stood looking down at the woods of Pemberley when she saw a figure walking through the woods. A woman. Carrying a child. The woman stopped and looked up, and Elizabeth saw her face.

"Lydia!" Elizabeth jolted up from the grass, grasping Georgiana for support. Her head hurt like never before but it mattered none. She had remembered!

"Your sister?" Georgiana, not knowing the significance of what had just passed, looked baffled.

"Lydia," Elizabeth repeated, exuberant at finally grasping hold of the illusive memory.

Then the facts caught up with her and she felt as confused as Georgiana looked.

"Why was Lydia here? Where is she now?"

"Lydia was here? Your sister? Mrs., Mrs. Wickham?" As she stuttered the name it reminded Elizabeth that title had nearly been Georgiana's fate instead. But she had no time to worry over the old mistakes of one sister, for the mystery of another remained.

"Yes. I saw her. It was her I saw that day. And I was so surprised it distracted me from my footing and I fell." At least according to Mr. Darcy, for that part of the memory still alluded her, and after the effort it had taken to regain what she had so far, she was more than willing to believe him.

"You remember!" Georgiana's face was alive with joy. "Do you remember anything else?" And her sister's hope shone through and Elizabeth felt wretched to disappoint her.

"No." She shook her head. "But it is a start." She smiled at her sister, whose excitement was only a little indented by this revelation.

"Fitzwilliam! We have to go back and tell Fitzwilliam!"

Elizabeth smiled widely at the thought, any disappointment he felt at her for coming here would be replaced by joy at the thought of her regaining her memories. Yet she glanced over at the spot where she had seen Lydia. Where their eyes had locked for just a moment, Lydia's wide startled eyes portraying that she was just as surprised to see Elizabeth as Elizabeth was to see her.

"My sister is out there. I have to find her."

"Fitzwilliam will organise a search party, I have no doubt. Two people can not search all of Pemberley's grounds." Elizabeth could not argue with Georgiana's logic and still grasping the young girl's arm tightly they begin their progress back to Pemberley House. Yet she couldn't help but picture Lydia, alone somewhere with her child. Though that was not necessarily the truth. She was quite likely not even still at Pemberley, for why would she not have visited Elizabeth? Yet she had been here. She had seen her sister's fall. And then what? Why had Lydia been here and where was she now? Elizabeth would ask Mr. Darcy, he knew more of Lydia as Mrs. Wickham than she did.

Silly, flirty Lydia, Elizabeth had had very little time for her youngest sister when they had lived at Longbourn together, and she wondered if Lydia's life might have turned out differently if her elder sisters, and her father, had paid her more attention, attempted to curb her and teach her, rather than seeing her as a source of exasperation and occasional amusement. Elizabeth admitted she had often ignored her sister's blithering, left her to her own amusements because it was easier than trying to reason with her. If Elizabeth had only tried harder would Lydia not be where she was now? Would Elizabeth not be where she was? Was karma playing tricks on her, and she had lost her memories as retribution for letting Lydia run free and ruin her own life?

"That's Richard, the stable boy," Georgiana, who had been leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts, now interrupted them, staring ahead at a young boy further up the track. He peered into the trees as he walked in a manner that suggested he was looking for something or someone. "Maybe he's lost something. Though I can not think what has brought him out here."

He turned at the sound of her voice and upon noticing them he hurried toward them.

"Mrs. Darcy, Miss. Darcy." He gave a small bow and turned to address Elizabeth. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you have to be coming back to the house. Master's orders, you see, ma'am." The young boy spoke at a speed that betrayed his nervousness.

"Richard, what were you looking for out here?" Georgiana asked.

"Were you looking for us?" Elizabeth added.

"No, ma'am." Richard shook his head energetically to emphasise this point. "Master said if we found you to take you back to the house, ma'am, but it weren't you we're looking you, ma'am."

"Then what are you looking for Richard?" Georgiana asked.

"A woman, miss. About your age, Master said. With a baby."

"Lydia?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But how does Mr. Darcy..." Her question trailed off as she realised it was not an appropriate question to be asking the stable boy, but it had blurted out in her confusion. Had Mr. Darcy known about Lydia? Why had he not mentioned anything?

"I don't know her name, ma'am. Master didn't say. Whose Lydia, ma'am? I mean, not that it's any of my, sorry, ma'am, I shouldn't have asked, ma'am." The boy tripped over his speech in his haste to apologise for his curious question.

"My sister," Elizabeth answered absentmindedly, her mind far from the idea of servants' gossiping.

"Oh," Richard muttered. "I have to take you and Miss. Darcy back, ma'am."

"Of course," Elizabeth agreed. "Lead the way."

Her already troubled mind was so pre-occupied with the extra questions raised by Richard's words that she paid little attention to her companions until Georgiana cried, "Fitzwilliam!" Looking up, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy striding down the path towards them, looking anxious.

"Mr. Darcy, sir, I found Mrs. and Miss. Darcy, sir. I was walking them back to the house like you said, sir."

"Thank you, Richard." Mr. Darcy favoured the stable boy with a slight smile. "I believe I can escort them from here."

"Yes, sir." Richard bowed to his master and then turned to walk away.

"Good luck with your search, Richard," Elizabeth called after him, watching Mr. Darcy for his reaction. He did not seem surprised by this comment.

"Thank you, ma'am. If your sister is here then we'll find her, ma'am." Richard's comment on the other hand did cause a stunned reaction from Mr. Darcy, though thankfully the stable boy had already turned away to walk back down the path and did not see his master's response to his words.

"I presume you know of the search for Lydia then?" Mr. Darcy asked her, offering his arm. Georgiana had already set off ahead off them in a transparent attempt to give them privacy, for which Elizabeth internally thanked her.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy, I do."

"Though my question is how you knew it was Lydia we searched for. I was very cautious not to say her name or mention her relation to me."

"I saw her. The day I fell. Mr, Darcy, I remember!" Elizabeth could not stop this exciting news from tumbling out of her. Mr. Darcy stopped and turned to look at her full on, staring at her in bemused wonderment. "Now before you get too excited it's not everything. I only remember walking up the hill and seeing Lydia. Nothing beyond that. Not even the fall."

"But you're starting to remember?" Mr. Darcy's could not quite hide the hope from his voice. He had not lost his look of stunned disbelief. Then he smiled broadly. "You're really starting to remember?" He was not even trying to hide his excitement now.

"Yes. But I like I said it's not much-"

"It's a start. And it must mean more would come." He pulled her to his chest in a hug. "Oh, Elizabeth! This is such good news!" Before she even thought to expect it he lifted her off the ground, twirling her around in the air.

"Mr. Darcy! Stop! My head!" This quickly sobered him, and she felt her feet on solid ground once more.

"My apologies, I forgot myself. But I cannot help it."

"I may never remember anything else," Elizabeth warned him. She had been so eager to share this news with him, but now in the face of his exhilaration she felt uncomfortable. For what if she was giving him the false hope she had so agonised over causing him earlier? And he did not seem to want to listen to her warnings.

"We should never say never, Elizabeth." Mr. Darcy would not be thrown out of his good mood.

"You just did," Elizabeth pointed out at which Mr. Darcy gave a small laugh. They were nearing Pemberley House and Elizabeth still had not asked him about her sister.

"Mr. Darcy, how did you know it was Lydia I saw?"

Before he could answer they were distracted by a figure rushing out of the servants' entrance and in their direction.

"Harrison," Mr. Darcy muttered to himself and now he had said the name Elizabeth recognised the figure of Darcy's steward. "Excuse me, Elizabeth. He may have news of your sister." He went to unlink himself for her arm. She held tight.

"If he has news of Lydia I wish to hear it."

"It might not be good news," he warned her.

"I wish to hear it nonetheless."

"Mr. Darcy, sir!" Harrison was out of breath by the time he reached them. "I need to speak with you, sir." He glanced at Elizabeth in a manner that made it obvious he did not wish to speak in front of her.

"I shall be with you in a minute, Harrison." He turned to his sister, stood waiting ahead of them and watching the scene infolding in front of her. "Georgiana. Will you accompany Elizabeth inside, please?"

"Mr. Darcy, I wish to-"

"Please, Elizabeth. You are still unwell. You should rest." And though Elizabeth internally admitted there was truth in that statement it did not diminish her curiosity or her worry for her sister. She felt Georgiana take her left arm, her right still holding tightly to Mr. Darcy.

"Please, Elizabeth. Just trust me." She had never thought she would hear the great Mr. Darcy plead and it was this more than anything that made Elizabeth let go. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and then walked away, his steward trailing behind him. Elizabeth let Georgiana begin to guide her toward the house. But she could not distinguish the frustration raging up inside her.

~o~ ~O~ ~o~

Colonel Fitzwilliam had not had to drag Mrs. Wickham back to the house kicking and screaming in the end. Merely pointed out that Darcy knew where his cousin was searching and would come to find him when he did not return. Her accusation he took as a bare-faced lie, but he could not understand her purpose in telling it. To turn Mrs. Darcy against her husband? What good would that do her sister? To extort more money from Darcy? But surely he would never pay her to cover up such an obvious falsehood. Unless he thought Elizabeth might believe her. And there laid what was truly the key question in this whole mess - not whether Darcy pushed Elizabeth, but if Elizabeth, memory torn and tattered as it was, would believe that he had? Surely not. The Elizabeth who had first awoken maybe, but even in just a few short weeks Elizabeth had opened herself up to seeing Darcy for who he truly was. Could it all be so easily destroyed by a few twisted lies from her selfish sister's mouth?

Fitzwilliam wanted to have faith in Elizabeth. But Darcy's earlier dismissal of the idea of her knowing Lydia might sew seeds of doubt in her mind when she learnt she had been correct. Really, Fitzwilliam sighed to himself, Darcy did have an amazing talent for making life difficult for himself.

He hoped whatever 'silly' idea she'd had to regain her memories that it had worked. It would save them all a lot of anguish. And be a rightful punishment for Mrs. Wickham's lies.

He turned his attention back to Mrs. Wickham. She sat in the visitor's chair opposite Darcy's desk, her daughter sat in her lap. The girl was remarkably still and quiet for such a small child. They looked incredibly out of place, bedraggled and dirty in Darcy's spotless affluent study.

Both sets of eyes were looking round constantly. Fitzwilliam wondered what Mrs. Wickham was thinking. Was she taking stock of the wealth on display in Darcy's study? Or considering how to make her sister believe her lies?

She jumped when Darcy entered the study, and the shock of her sudden movement made her daughter give a little cry, the first sound Fitzwilliam had heard from. He was beginning to find the girl a little creepy, and not just because of her name.

"Mrs. Wickham, what a surprise to see you," Darcy said to her as he sat behind her desk.

"No doubt an unpleasant one, eh, Mr. Darcy?" She smirked at him. Mrs. Wickham's bravo was quite astounding given her current situation.

"Mrs. Wickham has an accusation she would like to make." Fitzwilliam interjected. He hoped Mrs. Wickham's nerves would fail her and the entire bloody ridiculous accusation could be forgotten.

Darcy's brows creased in confusion.

"I'm not sure Mr. Darcy is the man to make it to," Mrs. Wickham announced. "Who is the magistrate for this area?"

"I am, Mrs. Wickham," Darcy answered. "Now what accusation do you have to make?"

"I saw you. The day my sister fell."

"Yes, I'd figured that out for myself. You have lead us on quite a merry chase, Mrs. Wickham. Why not just announce yourself here at Pemberley? Even with your sister's illness we would have welcomed you."

"Because I know what you did!"

"What I did?" Darcy could not have poured more scorn into those three words if he had tried.

"You pushed my sister! You nearly killed her!"

Darcy stared at Mrs. Wickham for thirty four seconds. Fitzwilliam counted each tick of the clock that filled the silence as Darcy took in his sister by marriage's accusation.

"How much, Mrs. Wickham?" Darcy's reply was calm. Fitzwilliam saw the flash of surprise across Mrs. Wickham's face before she tried to hide it. Fitzwilliam made no such attempt. Turning his attention fully towards Darcy he tried to establish just what his cousin was playing at.

"How much?" Mrs. Wickham repeated.

"How much to buy your silence? It is why you are here, is it not?"

"Darcy? What?" Fitzwilliam stuttered, baffled. For Darcy couldn't have! He wouldn't! He loved Elizabeth! "Darcy, what the hell?" Fitzwilliam was shouting now, the shout that had served him well on the battlefield, that would have made his temperamental father proud.

Mrs. Wickham turned to him with a smug grin plastered across her face. "And you called me a liar, Colonel. Your honourable cousin ain't so honourable now, is he?" Fitzwilliam had never thought he would ever want to hit a woman but Mrs. Wickham seemed to be trying her hardest to be the exception to that rule. But when she turned to Darcy again she turned serious. "I want triple the allowance you currently send. And a better position for Wickham. Maybe your cousin can help you get that?"

Darcy nodded.

"No, Darcy! I won't give that man anything. Not to hide some banbury story of cock and a bull his muck snipe of a wife has come up with."

"Hmmph!" Mrs. Wickham tossed her hair and pouted at the insult. In her current state is only made her look more like a pantomime act. "Your cousin doesn't think it's cock-and-bull."

Here Fitzwilliam looked over at his cousin, hoping his demand for answers immediately was clear without him having to articulate it.

"Mrs. Wickham, there are two options available to you now. Either admit you are lying and I did not push my wife or admit you were willing to hide the near murder of your own sister by her husband for money." Mrs. Wickham stared at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. "I do not have a high opinion of your character, Mrs. Wickham, but I believe the second option is beyond even you. Lying about it obviously isn't, but if I had really pushed your sister I do not believe you would be sat in this study demanding money. Nor would you have spent the last three weeks living in the grounds of my home. So now that has been established can we please move onto the actual reason you are here?"

Fitzwilliam breathed a sigh of relief. "Never do that again, Darcy." His scolding was only half joking.

"Thank you for the faith, Cousin," Darcy returned dryly.

"I could still tell Lizzy." Mrs. Wickham looked down at her daughter as she said this.

"If you and your daughter need help, Mrs. Wickham, just tell me. There is no need to play these games your husband has taught you are necessary to survive."

"Help me?" Mrs. Wickham screeched. She stood up, still clutching her daughter tightly, backing away from Darcy's desk. "When have you ever helped anyone, Mr. Darcy? You think you're so clever, tricking me. So much better than me. Wickham told me all about you. You don't care about anything but yourself. That's why you made Lizzy marry you. You wanted her and so you made sure you got her, never mind that she hates your guts. What Mr. Darcy wants he gets, that's what Wickham always said. Poor Lizzy, stuck with you."

"You know nothing about my marriage, Mrs. Wickham." Fitzwilliam recognised the cold fury with which Darcy spoke. It was a sure sign that Darcy was at the edge of his control. If Mrs. Wickham had any sense she would stop talking and quickly.

"Where's my sister, Mr. Darcy? I wish to speak with her."

"As if I am going to tell you, Mrs. Wickham. Not until you calm down and start talking sense."

"Fine," Mrs. Wickham spat. "Then I'll bring her to me." She took a deep breath and then emitted the loudest scream Fitzwilliam had ever heard. Her daughter broke her eerie silence to join in her mother's wails and within seconds the door to Pemberley's study crashed open and a harried looking footman glanced around in fear.

"Sir, what, I. Sir?" the man stuttered. But Darcy looked as unsure how to react as his servant. Mrs. Wickham's scream finally stopped so that she could catch her breath, but her daughter's wails still continued. She made no effort to shush the child.

"Mr. Darcy, sir? What in heavens is that noise?" Mrs. Reynolds entered the room looking flustered, she had clearly ran here. Her eyes took in the dishevelled Mrs. Wickham and her still screeching daughter. Before she could ask anything else though, Mrs. Annesley and Georgiana piled into the doorway behind her.

"Fitzwilliam. What is happening?" Georgiana's eyes had fallen onto Mrs. Wickham and she stared. Mrs. Wickham continued to survey the havoc she had caused, her eyes always searching for Elizabeth.

His sister's arrival finally spurred Darcy into action. "Georgiana, you should not be here!" He had to shout over the baby's screeches.

"I heard screaming," Georgiana told him disbelievingly, tearing her attention away from Mrs. Wickham.

"Georgiana?" Mrs. Wickham repeated his cousin's name, looking between her own daughter and the woman who was potentially her daughter's namesake. Why did Wickham have to be such a twisted hell hound? Georgiana turned her attention back to Mrs. Wickham at the sound of her name. "Who are you?" Mrs. Wickham asked her.

"You should go, Georgiana," Darcy repeated forcefully, "Mrs. Annesley, could you please?" Darcy waved towards the door impatiently.

"Of course, sir. Miss. Darcy." Mrs. Annesley took a gentle hold on her charge's arm.

"Miss. Darcy?" Mrs. Wickham repeated.

"Lydia." Distracted by each other, none of those gathered in the doorway of Darcy's study had noticed Elizabeth's arrival.

"Lizzy!" Mrs. Wickham screeched. She ran to her sister's side, pulling her close in a one-sided hug. Elizabeth looked dazed but returned the hug awkwardly. "Thank God! I'm here to get you away from this fumbler!"

"What's a fumbler?" Elizabeth shook her head , as if to shake away the stray thought. "Wait, why are you here?"

Her sister begin to try and pull her towards the door "That doesn't matter. I'm here to get you away, to make you safe!"

"Safe? I'm safe here, Lydia!"

"No, Lizzy! No, you're not! But don't worry! I won't let him hurt you!"

Elizabeth shook herself free of Mrs. Wickham's grasp. "Who hurt me? No ones hurt me, Lydia. What is happening?" She sent a pleading look in Darcy's direction. Mrs. Wickham noticed it as well. She lent in towards her sister and whispered in her ear. Fitzwilliam risked a glance at his cousin, who was watching this entire ludicrous scene play out behind his usual taciturn mask. Fitzwilliam felt his usual frustration with his cousin for this.

Elizabeth pulled away from her sister, looking shocked. "He pushed me?" she exclaimed. "Why would you tell such a ridiculous lie, Lydia?" She was looking at her sister with obvious disgust. Mrs. Wickham looked stunned.

"I'm not lying, Lizzy," she whined.

Elizabeth took another step away from her. Darcy came to stand by her side. A slight smile had broken through his mask for all his efforts. Elizabeth looked up at him and then took his hand within her own, before turning back to her sister.

"Mr. Darcy would never do that."

"You don't remember, Lizzy." Mrs. Wickham looked at the pair of them with distaste.

"I don't need my memories to tell me that, Lydia. Now why are you here? And why are you telling me such preposterous slurs?"

"I'm not." Mrs. Wickham was pouting again. If Fitzwilliam was not so exasperated with her he might have admired her resilience. The woman did not know when to give up. Elizabeth simply stared her down. Mrs. Wickham looked around the room at her many observers, all who were staring at her with various expressions of shock or disbelief.

"Lydia," Elizabeth said her name with great emphasis."My husband would never hurt me. That is the end of this discussion." And she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.


	12. An Unravelling of Events

**Chapter 12 - An Unravelling of Events**

Darcy closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of Elizabeth's hands within his, and the still lingering tingle on his lips from where hers had brushed against them. He let all the noise from Mrs. Reynolds rounding out the many invaders of his private space wash over him, focusing only on those two sensations.

She had kissed him. He had thought that it might never happen again, that he would never again taste the sweetness of her lips. And she had not believed her sister. Had brushed her outrageous accusations away without a moment of hesitation. Darcy had never loved her more.

"They are all gone," Elizabeth told him and Darcy opened his eyes, focusing on his wife stood beside him. "I am sorry for Lydia's accusations. I do not know what she was thinking."

"You do not owe me an apology for your sister's action, my dear Elizabeth. As for what your sister was thinking I only wish I knew."

"Why would you have pushed me? It's such a ridiculous outlandish preposterous-"

"Thank you," Darcy cut off the beginning of her rant before she could reach her full potential for outrage. But he did not think those two words alone would be enough to truly show how gratuitous he felt for her anger on his behalf.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Mr. Darcy. Did you truly think I would believe such nonsense?"

"I had hoped not. But I will admit, with your memories being as they are, I doubted. You only had my word against Mrs. Wickham's."

"And in the last three weeks, sir, you have taught me the value of your words." She had leaned tantalizingly close. Darcy stared in to those green sparkling eyes he loved and once more he saw not fear or disgust but the love she had once felt for him. Or did still feel him? Did she love him again? Could it truly be?

"I'd like to kiss you again, sir," she whispered.

"You do not have to ask permission." He barely managed to get the reply out. But though it took all his self-restraint he let her come to him. Then she kissed him again, harder this time, her lips remaining on his for more than just a few sweet seconds, and everything felt right in the world once more. He did not want to stop. God, it had been so long. He never wanted to stop. Wanted more. Images flooded his mind. All the times he had made love to Elizabeth. The greatest feeling he had ever known. How she would cry out his name. The little noises she would make. And how beautiful she was when he woke up to see her lying naked beside him in the morning light.

He felt Elizabeth begin to pull away from him and once more it took all his self-restraint to control himself, but he remembered Elizabeth as she had been on their wedding night, an Elizabeth who had chosen to marry him, who he knew loved him, and yet she had still been nervous, afraid of that she did not know. What this Elizabeth still did not know.

His mind flew in all directions and for once his words failed him. He merely stood there watching her, trying to find the right combination of words with which to explain the turmoil of emotions burning within him. His joy at her trust in him. His desire for her, that he had tried so hard to ignore these last three weeks, that he had thought he might never be able to sate again, and that now he struggled to control. And his worry that he would scare her, mind still fragile as it was, by overpowering her with all of this.

"Mr. Darcy." It was Elizabeth who broke the silence. "I must say I rather enjoy being a married woman." She flashed him one of her mischievous smiles. He chuckled in reply, dark and rich and joyous, for she seemed so like her old self and he truly felt they were on the right track at last.

"I am glad to hear it." Though he wanted nothing more than to capture those lips with his again he forced himself to settle for taking her hand to his lips instead. He forced his mind to focus elsewhere, walking away from her to sit in his desk chair. It was easier to think of other topics with some distance between them. She followed him, taking the seat that had recently been vacated by her sister in quite spectacular factor.

Her sister. Now there was a conundrum. He had figured out her game in lying about him pushing Elizabeth fairly quickly, and caught her out in the lie just as easily, he thought with a hint of smugness. Though he was not sure whether to be smug or irritated by the fact he had nearly tricked his cousin too. But no, Fitzwilliam had been more disbelieving than anything, though Darcy still stored the event away for the next time he needed a comeback against his cousin's barbs.

"Why was Lydia screaming?" Elizabeth's thoughts had clearly travelled in the same direction as his own.

"She was trying to get your attention. I did not want you to see her until she was in a calmer state of mind."

"For obvious reasons," Elizabeth agreed. "What I still cannot understand is why she thought her best option was to lie about you having pushed me? Why did she not just come and announce herself at the house three weeks ago?"

"On that matter I am as clueless as yourself. I can only imagine she did not think she would get a welcoming audience, especially whilst you were ill."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, her teeth nibbling at her lip as was her habit. Darcy could not help but stare, watching those little teeth nibble her rose pink lips. "Did Lydia attend our wedding?"

"No. She was in Newcastle with Wickham."

"And she wasn't at Kent, or here at Pemberley when I first visited, or at Longbourn during our engagement, correct?"

"Correct," Darcy agreed, he could see where her thoughts were heading. "Your sister's recollections of myself are limited to my first visit to Netherfield, which you yourself remember for the travesty of an acquaintance it was, and my involvement in her marriage."

"So her thoughts on your character would be similar to my own, when I first awoke." Elizabeth said the words carefully, obviously troubled by having to remind him of her behaviour during that first day after she regained conciousness.

Darcy remembered Lydia's shouted allegations that he had tricked her sister into marrying him, almost identical to Elizabeth's own accusations on that day that now thankfully felt so long ago. "I would believe as much. She distrusts me much as you did."

"I am-" Elizabeth stopped herself before Darcy could even interrupt to remind her that they had agreed that no more apologies were necessary for her behaviour that day. "But to live in the woods for three weeks?" Elizabeth formed the question in disbelief. "Even I, at my very worst opinion of you, would have chosen trusting you over that."

"Thank you? I think."

Elizabeth laughed. "You mean that's not the best compliment you have ever received, Mr. Darcy?"

"You've given better."

"Oh, I have, have I? Care to reveal all, Mr. Darcy?"

"No. I would much prefer to hear them from your lips all over again." He smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes. "So boastful, Mr. Darcy." Her smile and the tease in her voice beguiled her words.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and they shared a curious glance before Darcy called out, "Who is it?"

"Mrs. Reynolds, sir." He shared another confused glance with Elizabeth. It was not like Mrs. Reynolds to disturb them unless it truly was an emergency.

"Come in," he called.

She walked in, gave them both a small courtesy, and then stood opposite Darcy.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, but I need to speak with you, sir."

"I should go and see how Lydia fares," Elizabeth announced as she stood from the chair. She had picked up the obvious hint that the housekeeper wished to speak with Darcy alone.

"We have placed her in the Blue Room, ma'am. And we are planning to air out the nursery for the babe, if that's acceptable?"

Darcy felt a twist of pain in his chest at the mention of the nursery. The nursery they should have been preparing for his and Elizabeth's daughter and now instead they were preparing it for Wickham's daughter. What a bloody mocking twist of events.

It took Elizabeth a few seconds to realize the question was aimed at her as mistress of the house. "Of course, that's fine, Mrs. Reynolds. But, um, where is the Blue Room?"

"The first door on the left in the guest wing."

"I think I remember where the guest wing is. I can catch a passing servant if I get lost." With a smile and a courtesy to Darcy, Elizabeth left the room. Darcy turned his attention to his housekeeper, who stood watching him and wringing her hands nervously.

"Would you care to take a seat?" Darcy gestured at the seat Elizabeth had just vacated.

"Thank you, sir." Mrs. Reynolds sat down, fussing with her skirts as she did so. It was another anxious quirk, so uncharacteristic of her. Knowing him as she had since he was a boy, she was not one to fear or be in awe of her master, never hesitant or nervous when speaking to him. This sudden turn in behaviour worried him.

"Please, Mrs. Reynolds, what is it you wished to speak with me regarding?"

"Well, sir, I'm not sure it's my place to say anything-"

"Your counsel is always welcome by me, Mrs. Reynolds. You have always been an excellent friend and ally in matters of my home and family."

He had hoped to calm her obvious nerves with this sincere compliment, but though she gave him a weak smile at his statement, she still looked worried.

"It's about Mrs. Wickham, sir." Darcy suppressed a sigh, but he imagined she knew exactly how he felt about his latest house guest regardless. "I had Anna run her a bath and Miss. Darcy offered to lend her some clothes, given the state she was in when she was found." She paused.

"Sensible, but I sense it is not that alone you came to inform me about."

"No, sir. Anna helped to dress her, and she came to me afterwards, she wasn't sure if she should or not, but she felt that she had to do so. She wasn't trying to gossip, sir, nothing like that, she just thought it shouldn't be ignored." Darcy felt a cold worry building once more. It was definitely not like Mrs. Reynolds to be this flustered. "I mean, sorry, sir, I'm blathering. The thing is Anna says she saw, um, well, marks, sir."

"Marks?"

"Bruises, sir. And a scar. And I do not want to speculate but-" Mrs. Reynolds let the sentence hang, prevented from continuing by her own desire not to speculate.

"But we both have enough intelligence and knowledge of the world to know where those marks came from," Darcy finished for her. Goddamn George Wickham! He felt a mixture of fury and pity rising within him. But not, he noticed, surprise. He felt no surprise to learn of the latest heinous actions of his once friend.

"And the child?" He asked the question with trepidation. Surely not even Wickham would harm his own daughter. But still he felt the need to ask.

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. "I bathed and dressed her whilst Anna took care of Mrs. Wickham and I didn't notice anything like that. Thank the Lord. She's a skinny little thing but there's no doubting she has been getting fed." Mrs. Reynolds paused for a brief moment, hesitating. "Anna says you can see Mrs. Wickham's ribs though," she finally added, saying the words with an emphasis that highlighted their significance.

Darcy sighed deeply. Relieved for the relevant health of the child. Distressed by the situation Mrs. Wickham had found herself. And surprised that Lydia Wickham, a woman he had always categorised as silly and selfish, had been starving herself so that her child could eat. He knew it should not have been so astounding, that it was the act of a mother who loved her child, yet trying to alter the picture he had of Mrs. Wickham in his head to include the fact that she was a woman who would put her daughter's needs in front of her own disoriented him. But then it was always said that parenthood changed people, generally for the better. For the second time that day he felt the pain in his chest, like a hole had been gauged from him, the hole that had been dug when his own daughter exited this world.

"It makes no sense, does it, sir?" Mrs. Reynolds told him, dragging him from his thoughts before the memories could overwhelm him. She had relaxed somewhat now that she had shared her troublesome news. More like her normal composed self. Darcy felt a compelling need to ask her opinion. For any help in trying to make sense of all that had occurred.

"No, Mrs. Reynolds, none of it does. Which part were you referring too?" He scoffed to himself. Such an insurmountable mess.

"She was willing to starve for her child," Mrs. Reynolds formed the words slowly, emphasising them as she thought them through. "But she was not willing to come here to the house and ask her brother and sister for help."

"I do not understand it either."

Mrs. Reynolds gave him a tight smile. "Perhaps Mrs. Darcy shall have more luck talking to her." She stood up to leave. "Thank you for listening, sir."

"Thank you for letting me know, Mrs. Reynolds. Anything else you may learn about my sister, please, let myself know straight away."

"And Mrs. Darcy, sir? I did not want to mention it in her presence, especially in her current condition, but Mrs. Wickham is her sister by birth, no doubt she will wish to know."

"I thank you for your discretion. But I shall speak of the matter with her tonight, if Mrs. Wickham herself does not tell her, and if you should learn any more I believe we should both be informed."

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Reynolds curtseyed and left, leaving Darcy to his thoughts. All the different questions he had been asked over the course of the afternoon repeated themselves again and again, though in the end they all boiled down to one matter. Why had Lydia Wickham chosen to live in the woods of Pemberley for three weeks?

~o~ ~O~ ~o~

Elizabeth found Lydia and her daughter (for Elizabeth struggled to think of the girl by her name) in the guest room Mrs. Reynolds had called the Blue Room, for obvious reasons. An empty food tray laid discarded of its bounty and her sister had been washed, and combed, and given clean clothes and looked more like the girl she remembered rather than a feral madwoman. Elizabeth hoped this new found smartness in her appearance would also be reflected in her behaviour.

Lydia turned around at her sister's entrance. "The dress they've given Georgiana is rather outdated, do you not think?"

"Don't be ungrateful, Lydia," Elizabeth scolded, her irritation with her sister only increased by this petty comment. "And I imagine that is because it has come from storage in the attic. It most likely belonged to Georgiana, Miss. Darcy I mean, back when she was in the nursery."

"It's strange, don't you think? That my daughter and Mr. Darcy's sister share the same name?"

"Strange, yes." Certainly one word for it, though Elizabeth preferred unsettling. "Did Wickham choose her name?"

Lydia snorted. "Course not. That's woman stuff. Babies. I did. The female version of George, you see. I always did wonder why he found it funny. He said something once, when he'd been hitting the bottle, about the other Georgiana. You think he meant Miss. Darcy? He'd have known her, wouldn't he? Growing up here at Pemberley?"

"As a very young girl," Elizabeth replied. Lydia appeared to have no knowledge of her husband's near elopement with Georgiana Darcy and Elizabeth intended to keep it that way considering Lydia had already tried to blackmail Mr. Darcy once today.

"Wickham says she is a spoilt brat."

"She is nothing of the sort. She is timid, kind-hearted girl. You should not believe everything Wickham tells you, Lydia."

Elizabeth waited for Lydia's complaint at her words but it never came. Eventually Lydia said in a small voice, "No, I should not." Her eyes dropped to the floor instead of meeting her sister's. For the first time since Elizabeth had seen Lydia she felt a sisterly concern pull at her heart, rather than confusion or exasperation.

"Does Wickham know you're here?"

Lydia shook her head. "He had to travel with his regiment. Some training procedure. He should be due back next week I think. What day is it?" Elizabeth told her the date. "Yes, next week." Lydia bit at her nail nervously. "I'm sorry I lied, Lizzy." There was many things Elizabeth could have expected Lydia to say next but an apology was not one of them.

"Why, Lydia? Just tell me why."

"I panicked. I thought he'd send me back to Newcastle." Here Lydia sent a glance in her daughter's direction, the girl was happily playing with some toy Elizabeth imagined had also been retrieved out of storage in the attic. "And at first I thought if I told that Colonel, Mr. Darcy's cousin?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth supplied.

"I thought if I told him that Darcy had hurt you he might change his mind and not be so insistent on bringing me back up to the house."

"You really thought he'd believe that about his own cousin?" Elizabeth could not keep the disbelief from her voice.

"I'd believe that about our cousin."

"Yes, well, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are more like brothers than cousins. And neither of them are toads."

Lydia cackled in delight at Elizabeth's last comment. "He really is. Did you know Charlotte's up the duff again?"

"Up the what? Lydia, why do you keep speaking like that? And with that accent? You sound like you should be cleaning the outhouse."

"Well I haven't exactly been associating with the local gentry recently," Lydia snapped. "We're not all living in mansions."

"Sorry," Elizabeth placated. "I thought charming the gentry was Wickham's mode of operation?" At least that seemed to have been his plan in Meryton.

"It was. At first. But then…" Lydia trailed off, eyes scanning her nail-bitten hands. Elizabeth was beginning to get an idea of Lydia's life as Mrs. Wickham, and she did not like the picture that it painted.

"What were you saying about Charlotte?"

"She's with child again. Kitty told me. She still writes occasionally. I don't know how Charlotte copes though." Lydia screwed her face up in disgust. "Sharing a bed with Mr. Collins."

"Lydia!" Elizabeth scolded, shocked by her sister's improper talk.

"What? We are both married women. And you have to share a bed with Mr. Darcy, I would think you would sympathise with poor Charlotte. Is he as dull and uptight in bed as out of it? How dreadful for you to have to suffer through that. Perhaps once you have a son he will leave you alone. Though I think not. He is not the sort of man who gives up what he desires willingly."

"That is enough, Lydia." Elizabeth had stared dumbfounded as her sister's monologue continued but finally she found her voice to stop it. Yet Lydia had asked a very good question - what was it like to share a bed with Mr. Darcy? She knew she had done so beforehand. They had conceived a child together, and Elizabeth knew from an ill-thought out comment from her lady's maid that Mr. Darcy used to sleep in her bed every night. She remembered kissing him earlier, and though she had pulled away, taken back by his eagerness, a part of her had protested the action, had wanted to know what would happen if she was to let him continue.

Lydia laughed. "La! That answers my question. Poor Lizzy!"

"I would not know the answer to your question, now would I?" Elizabeth's annoyance at her sister's amused pity could not be contained.

Lydia stared at her in open astonishment. "But you have been married a year! Surely you must have? Can he not get it up? Ha! He really is a fumbler. Oh, my poor dear sister!" Lydia leaned forward towards her sister conspiratorially as she spoke, though Elizabeth did not follow all the words she said, she just understand by Lydia's manner that she was insulting Mr. Darcy again. Lydia reached out to pat her sister's hand in comfort. Elizabeth took a step back, away from her.

"The only memories of my marriage I have are of the last three weeks when I have been ill. I have shared Mr. Darcy's bed, Lydia, I just do not remember."

"Oh! Well then you have much to look forward too. Maybe." Thankfully Lydia stopped herself before she went on another monologue about how bad sharing a bed with Mr. Darcy might be. "It can be the most wonderful thing, Lizzy. To please a man." Elizabeth felt the need to dispute that last sentence, but knew not how. For if- or when - she returned to Mr. Darcy's bed would it be only to please him? Would she gain no joy from it as Lydia appeared to think? Then she realised she had begun to think of such an event as inevitable. She felt herself turning red at the thought.

Lydia laughed, amused by her discomfort. "To think there is something upon which I know more than you." She giggled again to herself at the thought, but then her smile slipped and disappeared, and she faded into whatever thought had distracted her, all trace of amusement gone from her face. "I should not laugh at you, or make such comments about Mr. Darcy," Lydia admitted. "Boring is better than unpredictable. Are you happy, Lizzy?" Elizabeth found her sister's change of mood jarring. A Lydia who spouted nonsense she knew how to cope with. But this sudden switch to this woman looking at her earnestly, as though she truly cared for her sister's answer, was harder for Elizabeth to know how to react towards.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered. "Whatever you may believe of my husband, he is a good man who loves me."

"Do you love him?" Elizabeth didn't answer the question. Her thoughts on the matter were so jumbled and Lydia was the last person whose helped she desired in straightening them out. Once more she found herself wishing for the presence of Jane. "I think you have answered my question again." No gleeful boasting in Lydia's voice this time. Just a small quiet sadness. "At least he loves you." She had turned wistful. Elizabeth was fairly certain from all she knew that Mr. Wickham did not love his wife.

"What is so terrible about life in Newcastle that you were so fearful about returning?"

Lydia's eyes flickered between her own hands and her playing daughter. "Wickham is not a very good husband." It was a quiet whisper, once more so extremely jarring after her earlier hysterics. "I cannot go back, Lizzy. I thought, when your husband asked me how much to keep quiet, that if I must go back it would be better if I took something with me. More money. A better position. It might make matters better for me. Make Wickham less angry." Lydia rubbed at her arm as she spoke, and Elizabeth remembered her fears the morning she had first awoken, her worries about Mr. Darcy's temper and how the laws of England did not protect a wife from her husband. She could not help but pity her sister, the life Lydia had chosen for herself. But she could not see how she could help. She could not change the law. And no amount of money or new position offered was guaranteed to change Wickham's character and temperament permanently. It truly was a terrible mess her sister had gotten herself into. It felt like an unfair retribution - that the price to be paid for falling for a charming man's tricks but once was a lifetime of misery. Lydia had made a stupid mistake, and put her sisters' happiness at risk, but it did not make her deserving of such a fate.

Though, of course, Elizabeth realised she had jumped ahead of herself. This was all conjecture based on her sister's desperate behaviour and all Mr. Darcy had told her of Mr. Wickham's true character.

"Does he hit you, Lydia?" Elizabeth saw no point standing on propriety with her least proper sister, especially on such an issue.

Lydia flinched as though Elizabeth herself had hit her. "Only occasionally," she insisted. "Just when he's been drinking. It doesn't mean anything, Lizzy." Elizabeth could not understand her sister's sudden defence of her husband. A husband who Elizabeth was quickly coming to the conclusion she had run away from.

"Then why have you abandoned him?"

Lydia opened her mouth to answer and then closed it again.

"His last night in Newcastle before he left he came home three sheets in the winds." Elizabeth gave her sister a puzzled look. "Drunk, Lizzy. It's what the sailors says. Anyway, he came home rambling all sorts of crazy nonsense. And Georgiana started crying." It took Elizabeth a few confused moments of wondering why Miss. Darcy was in Newcastle before she realised Lydia obviously meant her daughter. "And he started ranting about her. How she's always crying. Though she's actually a really quiet baby compared to some. I think she's learnt that crying gets her nothing. I feared he would hurt her. I truly did. So the next day after he left I took all the money I'd dared to hide from him and used it to pay for a stage coach down to Derbyshire, and then I came to Pemberley. I wanted to ask your help in keeping Georgiana safe. But then you fell. And I couldn't trust Mr. Darcy." Lydia held up a hand to stop Elizabeth's protests. "He was the one who made me marry Wickham. I thought he forced you into marrying him. I thought he'd send us back without a second thought."

"He will not send you back, Lydia." Even as the words left Elizabeth's mouth she realised she was making promises she could not be guaranteed to keep. For though she was certain Mr. Darcy would not want to send Lydia back once he knew the truth, whatever his personal thoughts on Lydia's character, if Mr. Wickham were to demand her back then he would have no choice. Lydia was Mrs. Wickham. Miss. Georgiana Wickham was his daughter. Those facts could not be changed.

"You do believe in him, don't you?" Lydia asked her. "I still find it difficult to understand that to tell you the truth."

"So do I," Elizabeth admitted with a small amused smile. How her opinion on Fitzwilliam Darcy had changed in just a few short weeks. "So it was your distrust of Mr. Darcy that led to you living wild in the woods for three weeks and lying about my fall?"

"I had nowhere else to go. I'd used all the money I'd hidden to get down here. And I cannot go back, Lizzy." Another glance at her daughter. "I could cope. As your cousin pointed out I made my bed and I have to lie in it. But Georgiana is but an innocent babe." Then Lydia started to cry, which startled her daughter and caused her to join in her mother's crying, and Lydia wiped her own tears away and ran to comfort her daughter, her voice falsely cheerful, whispering promises that all would be okay.

It was this final image of Lydia as a doting mother, a fact Elizabeth could not have imagined, that finally let her forgive her sister. Elizabeth moved to stand beside where Lydia crouched next to her daughter. The child's tears had quietened, she was showing her mother the toy horse she had been playing with. "I should go speak with my husband," Elizabeth told Lydia. She did not know what else to say to her. She needed time to think. "If you need me send for me straight away."

As Elizabeth walked down Pemberley's corridors she tried to reconcile all the information she had learnt in the past hour. The two sides of her sister: the young girl who was still as coarse and silly as ever, coarser even, after associating with the rough company Wickham was apparently now keeping, and the desperate mother trying to protect her child. Was that what being a mother did to you? Reflectivity Elizabeth placed a hand on her stomach where she knew her own child had grown once. Would motherhood have done that to her? Would it do that to her, should she ever have the chance to have another child?

It had not changed Lydia entirely, for her old self-absorbed side was still there, reflected now in that she still cared not what would have happened to others, how Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth's marriage might have been wrecked for ever if Elizabeth had believed her lies, but it was now an obsession with her own daughter and what was best for her over all others rather than Lydia wanting what she wanted over all consideration for others.

Elizabeth sighed. Trying to understand her sister made her head hurt, though in a manner different to the headaches she now associated with her fall and her memories. Looking around her she realised she had wondered aimlessly through Pemberley's corridors and was now clueless as to where she was. She wondered until she found a footman, who informed her Mr. Darcy was still in his study, and offered to guide her there. Much to her chagrin Elizabeth had to accept, and she had been so proud to find the Blue Room without any help!

Opening the door to her husband's study she found him deep in conversation with his cousin. They both stopped talking when they saw her.

"How is Mrs. Wickham?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked her. Mr. Darcy looked over at her with interest.

"Disconcerting." It was the best word Elizabeth had. She hesitated in the presence of the Colonel before adding, "I think I know what drove her here to Pemberley. Desperation."

"George Wickham," Mr. Darcy spat the name. The look on his face was venomous. Elizabeth moved to stand next to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. He shot her a grateful look. "Mrs. Reynolds says the maid saw marks on her whilst dressing her." Elizabeth cringed, fighting back the image that sentence raised in her mind. Marks. When Lydia had said he had hit her, she had not been imagining anything that could leave a mark. Elizabeth grasped Mr. Darcy's arm a little harder, not sure who comforted who now. She just needed to remind herself of his presence. A man she knew would never hurt her.

"Thank you." She had not meant to say it out loud but it came out anyway. For how else could she explain that she knew how lucky she was.

"You do not have to thank me for being a decent human being, Elizabeth. It is not a praiseworthy attribute to not hit your wife." Mr. Darcy's words were biting but she knew they were not aimed at her. He took the hand that rested on his arm, linked it with his own, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. Elizabeth allowed herself to close her eyes, to enjoy a few moments of peace before her mind must return to her sister and her problems.

"What are we to do?" she asked, eyes still closed. "Mr. Wickham is to return to Newcastle next week and even a drunkard like him will notice his wife and daughter are missing."

"And the first place he will think to look is here at Pemberley." Elizabeth had all but forgotten the Colonel was in the room and her eyes startled open.

"Can we hide them?" she asked. Both men shook their heads.

"It may keep him away from them for a short while," Darcy told her. "But the law is on his side. I have no right to hide his wife and daughter from him."

"There is always the one option that always work with George Wickham," the Colonel suggested. Darcy nodded. Elizabeth looked between them curiously.

"Money," Darcy explained.

"Sir, I do not want you to have to spend more money on my sister's behalf."

"And I do not want to reward Wickham for his misdeeds. But what other option is there?" Silence greeted this question.

"We cannot-" Colonel Fitzwilliam began when a knock sounded through the room. Looking frustrated to be interrupted, Darcy bide the person enter. It was Harrison, bearing an envelope on a silver tray.

"An express, sir. Just arrived." Elizabeth looked at the innocent looking piece of paper in horror. Had Lydia got her dates wrong? Was this Mr. Wickham demanding the return of his family?

No one spoke as Darcy reached for a letter opener and sliced into the envelope, then unfolding the letter within Darcy scanned it quickly. Then he read it again, slower. To Elizabeth's astonishment a smile crept across his face. Unable to help herself she tried to peek at the letter, but if reading for her was struggle at the moment then doing so in such a manner at such an angle soon proved impossible.

"Good news, Darcy?" Colonel Fitzwilliam was clearly as curious as Elizabeth.

"Without a better plan we shall have to take Mrs. Wickham to her family at Longbourn. We need to travel to Netherfield regardless. We have to visit our nephew." Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy, not comprehending his words. He waved the letter he had just received. "Mr and Mrs. Bingley have a son."


	13. A Homecoming

**Chapter 13 - A Homecoming**

Elizabeth did not know how to feel as the carriage neared Netherfield. So much had changed since she had last stepped foot in Netherfield Hall. The last time she was here, she had hoped for Jane's marriage to Mr. Bingley, had wished for a chance to dance with Mr. Wickham, and had despised Mr. Darcy. Now Jane was Mrs. Bingley with a newborn son, Lydia sat opposite her as Mrs. Wickham, a title that had only brought her sister misery, and Mr. Darcy sat next to her as man she was proud to call her husband. And though she knew it had been over two years since the Netherfield Ball to her it had only been a couple of months. How different would her loved ones be? What differences would marriage and motherhood had wrought on Jane? Had the successful marriage of her two eldest daughters, and dubious marriage of her youngest daughter, managed to change Mrs. Bennet's demeanour? Surely with sons such as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley she could no longer fear the hedgerows, would the removal of this long lamented threat have served to calm her mother's nerves? And her father, how did he fare without his eldest daughters at home? Did he miss their presence? How did Kitty and Mary fare without the presence of the sisters? Without Lydia had Kitty blossomed into her own person? And with less sisters around to outshine her had Mary managed to make her mark within her family? So many questions to which she was anxious to know the answers. Mr. Darcy laid his hand gently on her knee to calm its restless jigging. Elizabeth gave him a weak smile. She did not why she was so nervous to go home. Was it just that she was not sure how she would react, in the situation of being surrounded by her old life, and yet aware of the past three weeks, and all that she had been told had happened in-between? Or was it that she could not comprehend this bringing together of her two lives, of Mr. and Miss. Darcy and the Bennet family together. The weeks she had spent with the Darcys felt entirely separate to the life she remembered living at Longbourn. Was it possible for two such lives to collide?

She glanced across at her sister, the baby Georgiana asleep in her arms, if Lydia was worried about her family's reaction to her return she hid it much better than her sister.

"We are nearing Netherfield," Mr. Darcy announced. The entire Bennet family were to meet them at Netherfield, as Mrs. Bennet, Kitty and Mary were there everyday to visit with Jane and baby Thomas anyway, and Mr. Bennet had been lured from Longbourn to endure talk of babies by the idea of seeing his favourite daughter. Whilst Elizabeth and her husband, along with Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley who rode behind them in a separate carriage, were to stay as guests of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley at Netherfield, Lydia was to return with her family in the evening to her childhood home.

Elizabeth glanced over at her husband, he had been quiet for most of the carriage ride to Herefordshire. She had tried to draw him into conversations, but his replies felt forced and her teases only brought weak smiles. Lydia, too, had been uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps that was her manner of showing any nerves she felt at returning home.

For Elizabeth the nauseous turning in her stomach only increased as the carriage began to slow and Netherfield Hall came into view. Why was she so nervous to meet her family? Or was it the hope she carried, that these familiar faces and places would help to trigger more of her memories?

The nervous feeling was pushed away by a tide of happiness when the carriage came to a stop and Mr. Darcy handed her out and she set eyes on her sister. Jane looked tired yet her happiness shone through nonetheless. She practically shone with it. Mrs. Bennet had always praised Jane for her ethereal beauty but to Elizabeth this Jane, with her hair in a loose plait, wearing a plain cotton day gown, and positively aglow with a simple happiness, was more beautiful than the Jane she remembered, primed and primped by their mother.

"Lizzy!" Jane cried, all etiquette forgotten, rushing to enfold her sister in a tight hug. "It is so good to see you! We would have come to Pemberley but I couldn't travel, not with the child, and-"

"Hush, Jane. Of course you could not travel in your condition. Do not fret on it. Now you have to introduce me to your son."

"Of course. He is in the nursery." Jane linked her arm with Elizabeth's and they began walking towards the house.

"Jane?" Both sisters turned at Lydia's call. She stood alone beside the carriage, her daughter in her arms, stood back from the two greetings - Jane and Elizabeth, and Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy - that were happening.

"Oh! Lydia!" Elizabeth saw blotches of red appear on Jane's pale cheeks. "It is good to see you, too." She walked over to hug her youngest sister who took a step back.

"Is it?" Lydia asked with a scowl.

"Of course, Lydia. It has simply been a long time since I last saw Elizabeth."

"It's been even longer since you last saw me."

"I, Lydia, I did not, I," Jane stammered, clearly unsure what to say in reply to her sister.

Mr. Bingley cut off his conversation with Mr. Darcy to walk over to his wife's side. "We are both pleased to see you and your daughter, Mrs. Wickham. She is a beautiful little girl. You must be proud."

Lydia smiled. Any annoyance at Jane pushed aside by the compliment to her daughter. "I am," she agreed. "I am looking forward to seeing your son."

"Jane dear, why don't you take Mrs. Wickham and Mrs. Darcy inside to greet the rest of your family, and I shall wait here with Darcy for the arrival of Miss. Darcy's carriage. They should have been five to ten minutes behind you said, Darcy?" Mr. Darcy nodded. Elizabeth gave a final glance in his direction, took a deep breath, and followed Jane and Lydia into the house, where Jane lead them into the front parlour, where Mr. and Mrs Bennet, Mary and Kitty sat. Mrs. Bennet was talking to - or at - her two daughters, whilst Mr. Bennet sat in a chair as far away as possible from his wife and daughters, reading. Elizabeth felt a rush of affection for them all and a slew of memories of how her life had once been.

"Lydia!" Mrs. Bennet screeched upon spotting the entrance of her favourite daughter. She stood up and walked over to Lydia, examining her. "Such a delight to see you again. The first of my girls to be married returned home with her baby." She turned to her husband. "Is it not wonderful to see her again, my dear Mr. Bennet?"

Mr. Bennet looked up from his book. "It is wonderful to see both our daughters again, Mrs. Bennet."

"Oh, of course, Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet turned her focus to her second eldest daughter. "So well married! How you managed it I'll never know. Though still no child, I see." Elizabeth felt a twist in her heart at her mother's words. She must not have told her about the miscarriage, she realised. It did not make Mrs. Bennet's words sting any less. At least Mr. Darcy wasn't here to hear her, Elizabeth thought thankfully. She knew her husband had never been fond of her mother, hearing such a careless statement would only have upset him, and made him dislike her more.

"Mother!" A soft scolding from Mary. She and Kitty had joined the family gathering at the doorway. "That is not an appropriate thing to say. We should be thanking the Lord for the fruits that our family have borne. Both Lydia and Jane have healthy children."

"And Jane has a son!" Mrs. Bennet could not hide her glee. Elizabeth wondered if that failure still stung at her mother, her inability to bear a son and save Longbourn from Mr. Collins. Then she wondered if Pemberley was entailed. She had not spoke of children with Mr. Darcy since he had told her of the daughter she had lost. She could tell he was no less grieved by their loss due to the fact he believed the child lost was a girl and not a boy. But that did not necessarily mean he was any less reliant on her to produce a son than her father had been on her mother.

"Lizzy?" Her father had stood up too, joining the rest of the family in gathering around Lydia and Elizabeth. "You were quite lost in your own thoughts, my dear girl."

Elizabeth smiled, determined to push her worries away to enjoy the company of her family. "I've had a lot to think about, father. It has been a very strange month."

"It true you've forgotten everything, Lizzy?" Kitty chimed in, turning away from Lydia.

"Not everything, Kitty."

"Did you forget Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth hesitated, then nodded. She did not feel up to explaining that she had remembered Mr. Darcy but only their very early acquaintance. After all, she had forgotten the real Mr. Darcy. The man she had twice now gotten to know. "How strange that must have been for you. To forget your own husband."

Kitty stared at her with open curiosity but Elizabeth just mumbled her agreement.

"Shall we sit down rather than blocking the doorway?" Jane suggested. "I shall send for more tea."

Once everyone was seated Elizabeth looked round her. How strange that last time she had been sat here it had been with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Miss. Bingley.

"Are Mr. Bingley's sisters not here?" she asked Jane.

"They are to travel up from Town in a couple of weeks. They did not wish to crowd us with my family visiting here as well." Jane's words held no edge to them but Elizabeth read the double meaning there, whether Jane had intended it or not. Mr. Bingley's family wanted to spend as little time around Jane's as possible.

"How fare matters at Longbourn?" Elizabeth addressed her father but fully expected her mother or sisters to answer.

"Boring," Kitty replied. "Nothing of interest happens at Longbourn now that you and Lydia have gone."

"That's not true, Kitty," Mrs. Bennet scolded, scandalised. "Only yesterday my sister Philips was visiting. She had the most interesting tale about Sir William and -"

"I do not think Lizzy cares much for village gossip, Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bennet interrupted.

"I want to hear," Lydia said, turning to her mother with interest.

"Really, Lydia, I thought you of all people would no longer wish to gossip," Elizabeth snapped, then instantly regretted it. Lydia hung her head, embarrassed.

"I do not gossip, Mr. Bennet! I merely take an active interest in our community." Mrs. Bennet was oblivious to her daughters.

"Is that not just another manner of saying gossip, Mrs. Bennet?"

"Hmmph! How you do try my nerves, Mr. Bennet!"

Whilst her parents continued to argue and held the attention of their other daughters, Elizabeth moved a little closer to Lydia.

"That was uncalled for, Lydia. I apologise."

"You were right though. Imagine what the gossips will say about me."

"Let them talk. If you and your daughter are safe that is all that matters, let spiteful minds say what that want." Lydia gave her a wan smile, holding her daughter closer.

They both turned their attention back to their still bickering parents. Thankfully Mrs. Bennet's latest speech was cut short by the arrival of Mr. Bingley with Mr. Darcy, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley.

"Mr. and Miss. Darcy! How nice to see you again!" Elizabeth was not sure whether to be pleased or horrified by her mother's overenthusiastic greeting.

"And you too, Mrs. Bennet." Mr. Darcy gave a small bow but his face was impassive. "Mr. Bennet, Miss. Mary, Miss. Catherine." Georgiana, meanwhile, seemed to trying her hardest to hide behind her brother.

"Do you wish to join us for tea?" Jane asked. "Or would you prefer for Mrs. Nichols to show you to your rooms to freshen up first?"

Mr. Darcy glanced over at Elizabeth, who stood up. "I think it would do us all some good to freshen up from the road. It has been a long journey." She felt a burning need to escape from her family. From Mrs. Bennet's shouts and Mr. Bennet's jests and her sisters' curiosity.

They all followed Mrs. Nichols through Netherfield's halls to the guest rooms. Elizabeth had a weird sense of deja vu, remembering doing exactly the same when Jane fell ill, in a memory that felt like it happened months ago and had actually happened years ago. But stranger than that which felt similar was how much had changed since that last memory. Mr. Darcy besides her to start with, if she had spared him a thought the first time she had been shown to a guest room in Netherfield it had been to disparage him. Yet now she knew better. If you could have told the Elizabeth Bennet who first walked these hallways that the next time she returned to them she would be Mr. Darcy's wife she would have laughed in your face. But know it was that Elizabeth who felt foreign and non understandable.

"Here you are, Mr. And Mrs. Darcy." Mrs. Nichols announced. She showed them into a room and Elizabeth stepped in upon espying her cases at the edge of the bed. "If you need anything, sir, ma'am, please let me know." Mrs. Nichols left the room with a quick courtesy. Elizabeth realised Mr. Darcy had followed her.

"Mr. Darcy?" She did not how to voice her question.

He pointed to the opposite side of the bed where his own cases sat. "Mr. and Mrs. Bingley are aware of our former preference for sharing a room."

"Oh!" Elizabeth's thoughts were racing. She had known about it, too, thanks to Johnson's careless words, and wondered what it would be like. To share a bed with a man? With Mr. Darcy? Would they just sleep beside each other for now? Or would he expect more? Did she want more? What did more mean? The only knowledge Elizabeth could remember regarding marital relations was Lydia's crass words about pleasing a man and how she might enjoy it or she might not.

"I can request a separate room if you would be more comfortable?"

"No, there's no need to go through the hassle. And my family will only talk."

"I do not care what your family say, Elizabeth. I want you to be comfortable."

"And I will be. You used to sleep in my bed every night, did you not?"

"How do you-"

"Johnson made an indiscreet comment." Mr. Darcy frowned. "Servants will talk about their master and mistress, it cannot be helped." Unsure what else she could say Elizabeth moved over to the dressing table and examined her reflection. She contemplated whether she should change her hair and dress from her travelling clothes before returning to her family. Then she realised she would have to do so with Mr. Darcy in the room, a thought so embarrassing she quickly pushed it aside. Even whilst the rational part of her brain knew he must have seen her undress before, that on her wedding night she must have steeled her nerves and managed to cope with the awkwardness of that initial intimacy, she could not help but struggle to imagine doing so.

"I think I shall go and find Jane and my family," she announced, standing up.

"I shall be with you soon," he told her as she fled the room.

Elizabeth found her family where she had left them in the front parlour. Mrs. Bennet was talking with Lydia and Kitty, Jane with Mary, and her father was once more reading a book. Elizabeth sat down next to Jane, and her sisters cut off their conversation to ask after her health.

"I am well. But I did not travel from Derbyshire to talk about me. Tell me about your marriage, Jane, and your son. And Mary, tell me about your life. About life at Longbourn, which despite Kitty's claims I doubt could ever be boring. Tell me all I've missed."

"Life is duller at Longbourn now that there is less of us, though unlike Kitty I think it a good state of affairs. Mama talks about marriage less now that three of her daughters are married. Papa is much the same ever. Kitty is quieter without Lydia, there is less talk of lace and balls. She is learning to paint, which I think is a very suitable occupation for gentlewomen like ourselves. Like my playing at the pianoforte. I am glad Miss. Darcy is here, her playing is most sublime, and I do enjoy talking to her about music. I heard her on our visit to Netherfield the night before your marriage."

"It is hard to imagine Longbourn as quiet."

"Quieter." Mr. Bennet had once more abandoned his book for his second eldest daughter's company.

"I imagine you prefer that, Papa?"

"Some days I do. Others I find I rather miss chaos, even though I used to try my hardest to hide from it. Then again, I imagine chaos is soon to return to my home." He looked over at Lydia and Mrs. Bennet.

"Do not be too hard on, Lydia, Papa."

"Why is Lydia here, Lizzy?" Mary asked. "Should she not be with her husband? Even Lydia would not be improper enough to abandon her husband."

"Mr. Wickham is travelling with his regiment and so Lydia decided to visit so that we could all meet her daughter." The lie came easily to Elizabeth. What Lydia wanted her sisters to know was her choice.

"Speaking of meeting with children. Do you wish to come and meet Thomas now, Lizzy? I need to go the nursery and check on him," Jane said.

"I would like very much. Excuse us, Papa, Mary."

As she followed Jane towards the nursery Elizabeth was quiet. So much she wished to talk about with her sister but where to start?

Her sister's face brightened with a wide smile when she opened the nursery door and walked over to the crib and the baby asleep there. A woman stood up and curtseyed and Jane introduced her as Thomas's nursery maid.

"How has he been?" Jane asked her. Elizabeth stared at the sleeping baby, ignoring the conversation between her sister and the nursery maid. A few tufts of fair blonde hair stuck up from the boy's head. He looked totally peaceful in sleep. Oblivious to all around him. Who would this boy grow up to be?

A son. Would Elizabeth ever have a son? Or a daughter?

"Could you give us some privacy for a moment, Mrs. Weeks?" Jane's request pulled Elizabeth from her thoughts. The maid curtseyed and left.

"He's beautiful, Jane. You and Mr. Bingley must be so proud."

"We are," Jane agreed. She reached a hand out to gently stroke down those sticking up blonde tufts.

"Your hair," Elizabeth nodded.

"And my eyes. Charles was so pleased to have a child that will look like me. But we need to talk about you, Lizzy."

"Me?"

"Did you receive my letter?"

"Yes. But I've been struggling with reading since my accident."

"Then I'll ask the questions I asked then. How are Mr. Darcy and you?"

"It's... strange. But not an unpleasant strange. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, Lizzy. It makes all the sense in the world. That feeling when everything in your life has changed and its all because of one person. When nothing can delight you as much as their company, and even when you are in the company of others your thoughts stray to them, what they would say and think, what they might be undertaking right now. When everything around you reminds you of them and your first thought when anything happens to you is how you want to talk to them about it. When the idea that you ever lived without them suddenly feels foreign to you and you do not understand how you ever managed it. Is that what you mean, dear Lizzy?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth could not hide her excitement. To have Jane understand so well! She knew Jane would be able to help. "That is it exactly! How do you know how I feel so well, Jane?"

"Because I fell the same way as you do, Lizzy. That's love. You're in love, my dear sister."

Elizabeth thought about her sister's words for a moment. About how she felt when she was Mr. Darcy. How she would miss him when he was not there. How he was always the first person she wanted to talk with. And how that still amazed her.

"I think I am," she agreed. Then she laughed out loud with joy.


	14. A Visit

**Chapter 14 - A Visit**

Elizabeth felt a dull ache of disappointment as she looked around at Longbourn's familiar front parlour. So many hours she had sat in this room: entertaining guests, talking - and arguing - with her family, fighting with her embroidery, listening to and playing the pianoforte. She could remember countless hours she had frivolled away in this room. But still nothing more from after the days when she had learnt that Mr. Bingley would not be returning from Town and that Charlotte Lucas was to become Mrs. Collins. What had this room seen since them? She wanted to close her eyes, to concentrate, but her family were loud and raucous around her.

Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley had all travelled to Longbourn to give Mr. and Mrs. Bingley some peace and quiet - at least until their son awoke - and to see how Lydia fared with her return to Longbourn.

Elizabeth had soon found herself embroiled in a discussion with her mother, Kitty and Lydia about baby Georgiana, whilst the elder Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley had quickly been pulled over to the pianoforte by Mary. Mr. Darcy stayed by Elizabeth's side, though he said very little. Elizabeth was quickly realising this was his standard mode of behaviour around her family. He had assured her repeatedly he did not abhor them anymore, but that still did not make him anymore comfortable around them.

"She looks just like Lydia did as a baby," Mrs. Bennet was saying about Georgiana. Elizabeth was relived to see that Lydia's young daughter already looked healthier. She sat on her mother's lap, playing with a spare ribbon Kitty had given to her and giggling. She looked more like a normal child than the unusually quiet baby she often was. The more Mrs. Bennet and Lydia spoke of the child the less either Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy had to say in the conversation. Elizabeth cast her mind around for a different topic of conversation she could introduce, but experience has taught her that stopping her mother and Lydia in full flow was not an easy task and rarely a successful one.

"It's so fine out today I think I may go and take a stroll around the copse. It was always a favourite spot on mine here in Longbourn." Unable to take the conversation anymore, Elizabeth stood up.

"You did always enjoy the outdoors, Lizzy," Kitty replied, before their mother got a chance. "I am surprised you have not given the copse a visit sooner." She said the words neutrally enough, but Elizabeth suspected Kitty knew exactly what Elizabeth was about and helping her, and Elizabeth silently thanked her for it.

"I shall accompany you," Mr. Darcy announced, also standing up, as Elizabeth had known he would.

She took a deep breath of the fresh morning air as they stepped outside, Elizabeth on Mr. Darcy's arm. They walked slowly, wanting to make the most of their respite.

"I do apologise for my mother, Mr. Darcy, I know she can be a tad overpowering at times. I felt you might appreciate the chance for escape, as, I must admit, I did."

Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Your mother may be untactful but as far as I can assess she is never purposefully hurtful. I would rather converse with her than the vipers of the Ton who calculate each word for its impact."

"I'd say that was an accurate assessment of my mother. But I thought with her choice of topic it would be better if we were to excuse ourselves for a short span of time. She will have found something else to catch her attention by the time we have returned I am sure." Elizabeth felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest. She was not sure how he would react to her introduction of the topic of children, a topic they had steadfastly avoided since that first day.

"She does not know the reason such a topic might be painful for us." Mr. Darcy did his best to keep his voice calm but Elizabeth heard the slight crack nonetheless. At least that confirmed her suspicions that she had not shared her miscarriage with her mother, and that her mother's talk of babies was, as Mr. Darcy said, untactful but not intentionally harmful.

Elizabeth paused, trying to think of a reply whilst staring at the tree she used to climb as a young girl. What else could she say on the matter? That she grieved for their baby girl too, even if she did not remember her. That she hoped they would have more children some day but she had not known how to tell him that and she was anxious about instigating marital relations with him. Elizabeth did not know much about what happened between husband and wife but she knew the marital act was vital for children. After the previous awkward night of sleep she had resolved to ask Jane about the matter, but that was another conversation she did not know how to start either.

Could she tell him she loved him?

Why did the words catch in her mouth?

She knew the answer. Once they were said they could not be unsaid and they would change everything.

"Mr. Darcy, I think we do need to have a proper conversation about our daughter one day. But I do not think now, today, is that day."

"I understand, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth stared at the tree, trying to force her mind elsewhere. So many memories this copse held for her. Climbing this tree as girl. Conversations with Jane, walking round the flowers, their heads together in conference. The elderly woman with the pinched face shouting at her, about Mr. Darcy, and the shades of Pemberley, demanding that she say she would never enter into an engagement with Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth's defiant reply. Because she did not think that he would ask her again but if he did she knew she would say yes this time.

"He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman's daughter, so far we are equal," Elizabeth murmured the words to herself. Words she had said that very first day she had awoken, and Mr. Darcy had informed her she had said them before then.

"Elizabeth?" Mr. Darcy watched her with a curious expression.

Elizabeth gasped. "Mr. Darcy? I think I just remembered something. I remember refusing to agree to not accept your proposal. Because I loved you!" She tried to remember more, though the headaches were beginning to make their appearance.

"Elizabeth? Did you remember the conversation you had with my aunt?" Mr. Darcy's face was alive with hope once more.

"Yes. Yes, I think I do! Ouch!" Elizabeth cursed, one of the words she had learnt from her husband and his cousin when they had forgotten her presence.

"Elizabeth, do you need to sit down?" She felt Mr. Darcy's grip on her arm as the world began to spin around her again.

"Can you help me to the bench?" She stumbled along blindly following where Mr. Darcy led her until he pushed her down onto the bench. She tried to steady her breathing, having flashbacks to when she had done the exact same thing on a bench in Lambton. Was this destined to happen every time she remembered or nearly remembered something?

Did it matter? What mattered is that she had remembered. She had remembered a moment of being the Elizabeth who had loved him, and agreed to marry him. And it felt the same. The memories and her present feelings felt the same. She could no longer ever doubt that she had loved him once and loved him again.

She opened her eyes and turned to Mr. Darcy, who sat beside her completely oblivious to all that had come to pass within her in the last few minutes.

"Mr. Darcy, I-"

"Lizzy!" Both lovers turned around at the unwelcome intruder. It was Mary. "We have more visitors. Mama said to fetch you."

"Of course," Elizabeth agreed, standing up and trying to hide her annoyance. Mr. Darcy did the same, offering her his arm, and they followed Mary back into the house.

She was so distracted by her own thoughts that she forget to ask who the visitors were and so Elizabeth was surprised by the presence of two gentlemen she did not know in her mother's parlour. She searched her memory for their faces and came up blank. A glance at Mr. Darcy told her that he, too, was none the wiser, but Elizabeth highly doubted he would recognise many faces in the neighbourhood beyond the Bennets and Bingleys.

"Here are Mr. and Mrs. Darcy now. Lizzy, you remember Mr. John Goulding, Mr. Goulding's eldest son, he's returned home from Cambridge. And this is his friend from Cambridge come to visit, Mr. Howden." The last sentence was said in a hurry, as though poor Mr. Howden was not worth her mother's attention, but Elizabeth did not miss the focus her mother currently had towards Mr. Goulding.

"How do you do, Mr. Goulding? It has been some time since I saw you last." Elizabeth said politely, her mother never introduced anyone - especially a gentleman - with that much emphasis unless she had hopes for them. So Mary or Kitty? Mary may have said their mother had calmed her marriage making ways, but that did not mean she had stopped entirely. Indeed, Elizabeth thought the only circumstance that would make that a reality would be the fifth marriage of one of her daughters. "And it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Howden." Elizabeth was careful to gave the second younger man the same focus she had given her old childhood acquaintance, as though that alone could make up for her mother's rudeness.

Before either man could make a reply her mother interrupted. "You will not have met Mr. Darcy, now will you, Mr. Goulding? Our Lizzy married so well, do you not think? Mistress of Pemberley! Such a big estate. And the house! Oh, the house! Pemberley House is a rare gem. We were so lucky our Lizzy invited us last summer. Such a good girl to indulge her dear Mama so." Mrs. Bennet reached out to pat Elizabeth's spare hand whilst Elizabeth felt the old familiar coil of shame at her mother's blathering. She hoped her mother would talk no more of her marriage in front of Mr. Darcy, for she felt it would not be too long before she started reminding everyone of Mr. Darcy's estimated worth of £10,000 a year. And she knew her husband would not be pleased by that. He did not like to be thought of in regards to his wealth alone.

"You are lucky to have such a daughter as Mrs. Darcy, ma'am. And it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, sir." Mr. Goulding said.

"And yours." The two men bowed, but Elizabeth felt the tug of Mr. Darcy's hand in hers. He was clearly waiting for her to make their excuses. But her headache had cleared and she was now focusing very much on the present. Who did her mother have in mind for Mr. Goulding? And was the attachment reciprocated? She squeezed Mr. Darcy's hand back in an attempt to communicate that she was well and then she took a seat on the free sofa opposite where Kitty, Mary and Georgiana now sat. Mr. Goulding and Mr. Howden also took a seat, Mr. Goulding directed into the seat besides Kitty by Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Howden left to his own devices took the spare seat by Mrs. Annesley.

"Derbyshire is a beautiful county," Kitty told Mr. Goulding. "That is where Pemberley lays," she explained.

"Kitty painted the most lovely picture of Pemberley's gardens, didn't you, dear? Why don't you show Mr. Goulding your painting, Kitty dear?"

"Oh, Mama, I'm sure Mr. Goulding does not want to see my silly paintings." Kitty took a sudden interest in studying her shoes.

"I would like nothing more. I cannot imagine anything painted by your fair hand could be classed as silly." Kitty's face flushed a bright red but she stopped her examination of her shoes to peek at his face.

"Go, Kitty!" Mrs. Bennet ordered. "Go fetch them from your room, child." Kitty murmured a soft reply before standing up and leaving. Mrs. Bennet instantly began talking at Mr. Goulding again.

So Kitty then, Elizabeth thought to herself. I shall have to ask her how she feels about him, whether her blushes are caused by his compliments or our mother's matchmaking.

She turned her attention to the remaining occupants of the parlour. Her gaze falling on Mr. Howden, who sat looking unsure of himself. Knowing that neither of the Darcys or Mary considered conversation starting a key abilities of theirs, Elizabeth knew it would fall to her to try and make conversation flow.

"Have you every been to Derbyshire, Mr. Howden?" This seemed a good a topic as any, especially since Elizabeth knew it to be one of the few topics both Darcys could speak of with passion and at length.

"Alas, I have not. Though I have heard it is a most scenic part of the country."

"Are you fond of the great outdoors then, Mr. Howden?"

"Indeed, there is nothing quite like a gallop through the open space. It is one of the few things I have missed living at the university."

"I felt the same during my time at Cambridge," Mr. Darcy told him. "I missed the wide open spaces of Pemberley. Even more so whenever I stay at Darcy House." Elizabeth took her husband's hand and stroked her thumb across his knuckles in a show of support at this attempt at small talk, something he had made no secret of his derision for.

"I am not one for Town either. What of you, ladies, do you have a preference for Town or country?"

"Country," Elizabeth replied. "I can not survive long without my morning rambles." This was greeted by an agreeing chuckle from her husband and both her sisters.

"I have never been to Town," Mary announced.

"Surely you have been to visit with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner before now?" Elizabeth asked, surprised. Could Mary truly never have gone with them?

"No. It was always Jane and you they invited."

"Oh… Well perhaps they might invite you down this summer. Or you could stay with us next time we are staying in Town. I do not think we will be there this year, given my condition, but we will be staying there next season for Miss. Darcy's coming out." Elizabeth did not need to turn around to know her husband had stiffened in his seat, as he did every time Georgiana's coming out was mentioned. She would need to talk with him before the next season. Prepare him for the fact that his little sister was definitely a grown woman now and he would have to let her make her own decisions.

But for now Elizabeth turned her attention back to her other sister. Mary. Always overlooked by their family, and Elizabeth never gave it too much thought. She never thought to offer or suggest that Mary come to Town with Jane and her, or that the offer should go to her one year. Too wrapped up in her own excitement about spending time with Jane and the Gardiners. She did not think offering a chance to visit them in Town made up for all the times she had neglected her sister, but it had to count as a start.

"That is such a good idea, Lizzy," Georgiana said. "I would be greatly appreciative of a friend during my first season. And the music shops in Town are beyond belief. There is always some new sheet music from the continent to be found."

"You are both fond of music then, Miss. Darcy, Miss. Mary?" Mr. Howden asked.

"It is my favourite past time. I mean-" Georgiana stuttered to a holt as though she had suddenly become aware of her own boldness.

"Miss. Darcy spends many hours in practice at the pianoforte," Mrs. Annesley supplied for her charge.

"Perhaps you and Mary could give us a display," Elizabeth said. "Both my sisters are most accomplished." Mary jumped up eagerly, but Georgiana sat staring at Elizabeth like a deer surrounded by the huntsmen. Elizabeth felt a twist of guilt looking at her terrified face but she knew her sister had to grow more comfortable in performing in public before she could come out next year.

"You could play the new duet you were practising last night after dinner at Netherfield. I shall be the good elder brother and help you with the pages." Mr. Darcy had stood up and his sister reluctantly followed him to the pianoforte. Mr. Howden watched with interest, Mrs. Annesley with an anxiety she could not entirely hide.

As Georgiana sat down at the bench Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy whisper something to her, whatever it was it he earned him at least a weak smile from his sister.

Elizabeth glanced over at where Kitty still held court with showing her paintings to Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Goulding. None of them were paying any attention to the other occupants of the parlour.

"Are you an eager connoisseur of music then, Mr. Howden?" Elizabeth asked. In the background the first notes of the song began to play. As always Elizabeth was amazed by Georgiana's skill, there was also a marked approval in Mary's talent, to the point where Elizabeth could not tell who was playing which part of the duet.

"Of all kinds, Mrs. Darcy. Though myself I prefer the cello to the pianoforte as my instrument of choice."

"You can play, Mr. Howden?"

"I learnt it as a boy - it was a talent of my father's - and have never wished to give it up since then."

"I must admit I was never musically inclined myself. I can play but not to any great ability - whatever my husband may tell you otherwise. It is why I am always so impressed by both of my sister's accomplishments in the field."

"I can see - or hear I suppose I should say - why. So what brings you home to Herefordshire, Mrs. Darcy?"

"My eldest sister, Mrs. Bingley, who lives up at Netherfield, has just had a son."

"Yes, I believe I briefly met Mr. Bingley's acquaintance when Mr. Goulding saw him in Meryton. My congratulations to your brother and sister."

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Lydia re-enter the room, minus her daughter, and take a seat next to Kitty. Elizabeth hoped Lydia would manage to not say anything too silly or course in Mr. Goulding's presence.

Mrs. Annesley had taken up the conversation with Mr Howden during Elizabeth's distraction, and Elizabeth cursed herself for being a bad hostess before remembering that this was not her home anymore. It was in fact her mother who was being a bad host, which was unusual, generally Mrs. Bennet tended towards the overly enthusiastic approach to hosting. Especially with single gentleman. Even with her preoccupation with Kitty and Mr. Goulding it surprised Elizabeth her mother has not dropped one hint in Mr. Howden's direction about Mary, her one other remaining single daughter.

Just then a discontent note sounded through the room and the music slammed to a stop.

Elizabeth looked over in worry towards the pianoforte and its occupants.

"Gosh, what a dreadful noise you're making over there, Mary!" Lydia called across the room.

"It wasn't Mary's fault." Hurried words from a red-faced Georgiana. "My finger slipped. Mary was playing most beautifully. I apologise for ruining it."

Everyone was quick to mutter that she need not apologise. It did not stop her from running away from the instrument as if it had been poisoned and once more take her seat. Mr. Darcy and Mary followed her, the former with a face full of worry. At the other side of the room Mrs. Bennet quickly re-ignited the conversation, but in Elizabeth's small group everyone was silent, unsure what to say to the young woman currently studying her hands in shame. Elizabeth had plenty of things she wished to say to Georgiana, as she imagined did Mr. Darcy besides her, but they were all matters better left aside until the couple could speak to her more privately.

"I have an aunt who to this day is determined that I purposely tried to deafen her," Mr. Howden announced into the silence. "I was playing my cello after a family dinner one night, and my younger brother was trying to distract me for his own amusement, and he finally succeeded and I never knew the cello could make such an horrendous noise as it did in that moment." He looked over at Georgiana. "My point being that all musicians, even the very best of musicians, and my most humble self is most certainly not amongst that number, will make mistakes. You play magnificently, Miss. Darcy. Do not let such a small setback stop you."

"Thank you, Mr. Howden," Georgiana murmured. She was still bright red but the smile she gave him was genuine.

"Who is your favourite composer?" he asked her.

Elizabeth had to stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief, this was one of the few conversations where Georgiana could hold her own. Georgiana and Mr. Howden talked of music, with the odd comment here and there from their companions, until Mr. Goulding stood up, thanking Mrs. Bennet for her hospitality, and insisting that unfortunately due to prior commitments Mr. Howden and he could not stay for dinner.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss. Darcy," Mr. Howden said, standing up and bowing. "And you too, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Annesley. Thank you for yours and your family's hospitality, Mrs. Bennet."

"My pleasure, Mr. Howden. You will have to make sure you and Mr. Goulding visit us again before you leave to return to university."

"We would be delighted, Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Goulding told her, though he glanced at Kitty as he said it.

Once the two gentlemen had left Mrs. Bennet declared, "Such a handsome gentlemen, Mr. Goulding, and his friend is so polite, too, if it was not for Mr. Mills I would think him suitable for you, Mary, with all his talk of music, but you have made your mind up, haven't you, girl?"

"Who's Mr. Mills?" Elizabeth and Lydia asked at the same time.

"He's a clerk who works for your Uncle Phillips," Mrs. Bennet said snottily.

"Mama does not approve of him." Mary's voice was cold.

"Why ever not?" Elizabeth asked.

"A clerk! After you and dear Jane married so well."

"Mr. Goulding is not as rich as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and you clearly approved of him," Lydia said.

"But he will inherit Haye Park!"

"That is mercenary, ma'am." Mr. Darcy's voice was as cold as Mary's had been.

To be so scolded by one of her much lauded son-in-laws was enough to finally quiet Mrs. Bennet.

"And Mr. Mills will work hard and he will take care of me, that is all that matters!" Mary insisted.

"Do you and Mr. Mills have an agreement, Mary?" Elizabeth asked, surely if Mary was engaged some one would have told her, even if her mother did not approve.

"Not officially. He is waiting till he has enough money saved up to be able to support a wife. Then he will propose."

"Which could be years, and then he might change his mind," Mrs. Bennet told her. "I speak only from concern of you, girl."

"He won't!" Mary insisted.

"He sounds like a good man," Lydia said. "And a good poor man is better than a bad rich man." She paused. "Or a bad poor man," she added in a murmur. "Good is the important thing. Not rich. Or handsome." The entirety of her family were staring at Lydia like they had never seen her before, Elizabeth recognised the feeling. Still felt it herself to be honest. Whenever Lydia flickered from her old silly self to this new more mature version. Elizabeth wondered which side would win out, would time spent at her childhood home away from the horrors of life as Wickham's wife make her become more like her old childish self. Or would the memories of her marriage that still lingered be enough to help her maintain this more mature mindset? Lydia could never unlearn the harsh realities she had learnt as George Wickham's wife.

"Congratulations, Miss. Mary," Mr. Darcy told her. Georgiana added her own congratulations after her brother's.

"Now what of you and Mr. Goulding, Kitty?" Lydia demanded. "He is a good rich man? Those are the best to find, ask Jane and Lizzy!" Even when Elizabeth half expected it, it was still a disconcerting change in attitude, after the dour mood Lydia had created just a minute earlier.

"He is very charming, and very handsome." Kitty giggled. "But there are no agreements between us. He has said he is to move back to Haye Park once he graduates this summer, and then, well, we shall see." Kitty and Lydia went into another round of gigging, and Elizabeth felt a strange tug of nostalgia, which quickly turned into a remembrance of how annoying that synchronized giggling could swiftly become. She shared a brief look with Mr. Darcy who clearly got the message as he stood up and announced that they needed to return to Netherfield. Georgiana stood up with obvious relief, Mrs. Annesley with an anxious glance at her charge. Mr. Darcy politely excused away all of Mrs. Bennet's reasons why they had to stay awhile longer.

"Mary, Kitty, will you walk us to the door?" Elizabeth asked. If either of them found this a strange request they hid it well. The three of them walked behind the Darcys and Mrs. Annesley towards the door. Elizabeth turned to her sisters as she was fastening up her pelisse.

"As far as Mr. Mills and Mr. Goulding are concerned, all I want to say is that you should marry who you chose, not Mama's choice, and that I want nothing more than for you both to find happiness and love."

"I love him," Mary told her. "I do. He may not be the most handsome man, or the richest, but he is kind to me, and he is willing to talk about scripture and sermons with me as he had considered training to be a pastor once, and he encourages me in my playing. He treats me like no ones ever treated me. Like I'm special"

"Then I am happy for you. And I am sorry, I was not always the best sister to you, to either of you." Elizabeth was now pulling on her gloves, whispering, for though she knew now was not the best time for this conversation she did not know when else it would be possible, and she felt that these were words she had to share.

"Neither were we," Mary said. "But thank you, your support means a lot to me"

"And you, Kitty? And Mr. Goulding?"

"I do not know. I like him. Very much. But I do not know if I love him."

"Some times you do not know if you are in love until you're already in the middle of it."

"Like Mr. Darcy and you?" Kitty asked.

Elizabeth nodded, placing her hat on her head. "Exactly like that." Now fully prepared for the outdoors Elizabeth knew the conversation had to come to an end. "I am happy for you both. And if you ever need any advise you know where to find me? Or you can always write, hopefully I will regain my reading ability soon."

"We shall see you tomorrow at Netherfield, Lizzy, no need to act like this is a final goodbye," Kitty said.

Elizabeth laughed and said her final farewells, as did Mr. Darcy, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley.

"What were you conversing about so intently with your sisters?" Mr. Darcy asked her as they walked towards the awaiting carriage.

"Their respective gentlemen. My mother always pressured us to marry and, more importantly, to marry well. I want to make sure my sisters marry for happiness like I did."

"Like you did," Mr. Darcy repeated her words to himself.

"Yes, like I did. A fact that I already was certain was true before this afternoon but has now been confirmed without a shadow of doubt. I refused to agree to never marry you, even whilst I thought you would never ask for my hand again. And I remember how I felt when I made that decision." Mr. Darcy helped her into the carriage, then Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, and finally climbed in himself. As he sit down beside her Elizabeth knew she could not carry their previous conversation on for the moment. She wanted to tell him. The words were bubbling within her. But no moment felt like the right moment.

"I am sorry I made a fool of myself earlier, brother." Georgiana did not look at her brother as she said the words.

"You did not make a fool of yourself, Georgiana. In fact I was exceptionally proud of you."

"You were?"

"You played for an audience outside our family. And you handled a conversation with a new acquaintance with grace. That is better than I usually manage." Mr. Darcy scoffed at himself.

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "Mr. Howden seemed to be enjoying your conversation."

"He was nice. He had lots of interesting thoughts on the different composers." Elizabeth did not miss the slight blotches of red on her sister's cheeks or the slight upturn of her mouth. Judging by the dark expression on Mr. Darcy's face neither did he. She really did need to speak with him about that.

"Perhaps we shall see him again before we leave. Or you never know, he may be in Town during the season next year."

"Yes, the season, about that, I've been thinking maybe I should not come out next season." The words tumbled out so quick they were like one long word.

"Not have a season? Why ever not? You'll be eighteen." His sister's words appear to have genuinely shocked Mr. Darcy.

"All the balls. The new acquaintances. Trying to figure out what all their intentions are. I am not sure I will be able to cope."

Elizabeth felt the need to speak up. "You will not know until you try, Georgiana. You did wonderfully today, like your brother said." She turned to her husband. "Perhaps this season we should host a few balls at Pemberley. Just small local ones but if we invite Georgiana it gives her any experience of attending them before she is to go to Town next summer."

Mr. Darcy thought for a few moments, and Elizabeth knew his hatred of large social gatherings was warring with his desire to do right by his sister. "It's a wonderful idea, my dear Elizabeth."

"Looks like we will be practising our dancing when we return to Pemberley, Miss. Darcy," Mrs. Annesley said with smile.

"Yes," Georgiana agreed with a delighted giggle. "It does."

The carriage pulled up outside Netherfield. Once inside everyone drifted off to their own rooms to dress for dinner, except Mr. Darcy who announced he had to quickly reply to some urgent correspondence. Elizabeth recognised that for the lie it was, he was giving her a chance to get changed in their joint room without his presence. As the maid helped her dress Elizabeth thought about the previous night. The awkward stilted atmosphere. How neither of them had known what to say or how to act. Would telling him the truth about her re-discovery of her love for him help with that? How should she tell him? Would it be too strange to say it in this room tonight, when the two of them were sharing a bed? Elizabeth sighed with frustration, earning her an intrigued glance from the maid helping her. She needed Jane's advise and she doubted she would have a chance to speak with her alone tonight.

She was right. Jane and Mr. Bingley both excused themselves early after dinner, citing exhaustion as Thomas had been awake all night and they had been determined to be there with him, despite the nanny's presence. So it was that Elizabeth found herself once more alone in a bedroom with Mr. Darcy and no idea what to say or what she wanted to happen. They settled once again on awkward muttered good nights and a blowing out of the candles. Elizabeth laid there awhile, unable to sleep, listening to the quiet sound of Mr. Darcy's breathing beside her as she tried to decide what she to do, until finally she, too, fell asleep.

Elizabeth was awoken in the middle of the night by her husband's frantic tossing and turning in his sleep, alongside his harried mutters.

"No! No! No!" he muttered to himself, and there was a desperation in his pleas that terrified her. She shook his shoulder, calling his name, to try to wake him up from whatever plagued him. Finally with a gasp he shot up in the bed, panting from exhaustion. She turned away to lit a candle and when she turned back to him she could see how his face gleamed with sweat from his exertions. He look startled. Terrified.

"Mr. Darcy?" she said cautiously, watching him nervously. What had he seen in his dreams to upset him so?

"Elizabeth? Oh thank the good lord, my dear Elizabeth!" He pulled her to him, hugging her close, before sealing her lips with his own. A desperate frantic kiss. There was none of the restraint she had felt from him previously. He did not hold back, even to begin with. Overwhelmed, she pulled away, startled by his behaviour. He did not seem to notice, only pulled her to him again in a tight hug. She hugged him back, pulling him closer to her. She did not know what had terrified him so, but she could tell he had need of her comfort. She could feel his chest moving below hers, the frantic beating of his heart. "A dream," he murmured into her hair. "Nothing more than a dream."

"Mr. Darcy," she whispered, still holding him close. "What did you see?"

"It matters not. You are here now." He kissed her again, just as desperate, just as passionate and this time Elizabeth did not pull away. Only when his hands reached for the edging of her nightdress did she freeze, in two minds. One side of her wished to continue, to learn the mysteries of the martial bed she had once known. To see if it felt as delightful as kissing. If it would satisfy this growing yearning for him. But much as she was tempted to try to stop thinking, to lose herself in these new sensations, some rational side of her brain would not be quieted. Did she want her first time - the first time she could remember at least - to happen like this, as a reaction to whatever had so terrified him during the night?

Mr. Darcy noticed her hesitation and pulled away from her, moving away from her back to his own side of the bed. Lying down again he said to her, "Sorry, my dear. I should have known better than that. To wake you in the middle of the night and then make demands on you when you are half-asleep still, you must think you are married to quite the horn dog." He gave a self-depreciating chuckle. Elizabeth simply stared, unsure what reply to make to such a comment. She felt he expected some form of tease or joke as a retort, but she was still trying to make sense of his words. So casually spoken, when he must know how important it would be, what a big step it would be for them, if she were to truly share his bed once more, and not just to sleep.

"Mr. Darcy, I don't understand," she admitted. He sat up again, looking at her confused. But then he turned from her, studying the room around him as his expression became even more befuddled.

"This isn't your room at Pemberley." He turned to look at her, questioning. His comment only served to worry Elizabeth further.

"No, sir," she replied, shaking her head. She continued to watch him, he looked like he was thinking the matter through, and drawing a conclusion he did not like. "This is our guest room at Netherfield. We came to visit Jane and Mr. Bingley and their son" She said the words slowly, she did not mean to patronise him, only that she did not understand how he was suddenly unaware of this.

"It was not a dream," he whispered, he still look startled by the whole situation.

"What did you think you'd dreamt, Mr. Darcy?"

"I dreamt that you had fallen, and lost all your memories of me. Then when you woke me, and I saw you were there beside me, I told myself it was just a dream. You were beside me, and that in my mind was proof enough that it had all been nothing but a nightmare. But it was not just a dream, was it?" Elizabeth shook her head. "My gods! Forgive me, Elizabeth. I thought you were the Elizabeth who was used to my attentions."

"There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Darcy. And your attentions were not unwelcome, I was just startled by the suddenness of them."

"They weren't unwelcome?" Mr. Darcy whispered.

"No, they weren't." Elizabeth felt the heat rush to her cheeks, dropped her eyes to study the blanket at the sudden intensity of his gaze. But no, that would never do. She was not afraid. Pulling her gaze back to his, she stared into those blazing blue eyes for a few moments, and then she leaned forward and pulled him to her.


	15. A Morning

**Chapter 15 - A Morning**

When Darcy first awoke he felt nothing but a deep contentment, a pure happiness, residing in every nerve in his body. It was only as his memories slowly filtered into his sleep-addled brain that he begin questioning - what was real and what had he dreamed? Elizabeth falling? Awakening besides her? Which of these was reality?

His brain gradually put the pieces together. He remembered her whispered words to him, her pulling him towards her. The delicious taste of her lips on his. The feather light touch of her hand on his chest. The softness of her breasts. The feeling of completion when their bodies had been joined together once more. How he had cried out in the midst of that turbulence of emotions - love and pleasure and togetherness - that he loved her. And below him, in between her moans, Elizabeth, his darling Elizabeth, truly his once more, had told him she loved him too.

Or was it all but a dream? Had his often cruel unconscious tricked him once more? Into thinking he had awoken to such delights? Darcy knew he only had to open his eyes and he would know. But he could not bring himself to do so. Not yet. If it was all just a dream then he wanted to luxuriate in the memories, false though they may be, for a few moments more. He had always scorned those who said that ignorance was bliss, but now he could see their reasoning. Just a few more moments, he bargained with himself, then he would wake up and face the truth. For Elizabeth may no longer hate him, she had over the last few weeks given him evidence to make him hope that she was once more beginning to feel her old attachment to him, that she was willing to try and make an effort to be his wife once more. But for her to tell him she loved him? To offer herself up to him completely? It seemed too good to be true. His mind must have gotten too hopeful in the hours of his sleep. One day he hoped that it would happen, but he did not think that day was today. Or yesterday.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Elizabeth slept beside him, the top of the blanket low enough to just reveal the top of her bare breast. Not a dream. Darcy stared at her in amazement. He had not dreamt last night. He felt a sudden heady rush of affection for the courageous woman that he loved. He did not know how long he laid there, watching her sleep, when she turned over and mumbled sleepily, waking up, as though she could fell the intensity of his gaze as it fell upon her.

"Morning, my dear."

Elizabeth, still half asleep, sat up, stretching, and mumbled a reply. Darcy was too distracted by the sight of her to give it much attention. Though he saw as the effects of sleep wore off her and realisation hit. With a quick gasp, she pulled the blankets over her, suddenly aware of her nakedness. Darcy smiled to himself at her sudden shyness.

"You do not have to hide anything from me, Elizabeth," Darcy told her. "Though if it would make you more comfortable I can close my eyes while you fetch your nightgown. I believe it should be on the floor somewhere."

"I, yes, please, thank you, Mr. Darcy," she stammered. Darcy closed his eyes until Elizabeth's voice called out that he could open them once more.

"How are you this morning, Elizabeth?"

"I am... I am not sure what words there are to explain it." The corner of her lips upturned in the starting of a smirk. "I think that this is one of those occasions where actions speak louder than words." Before Darcy could question her intentions she answered him anyway, by leaning forward and kissing him, and Darcy forgot his worries over what was reality or not, what she remembered and not, and focused on the very delicious present.

"Does that answer your question, Mr. Darcy?"

He chuckled. "Yes. It does. And you can call me Fitzwilliam when we're alone together, if you would like?"

"I rather like calling you Mr. Darcy. Though it does not seem quite fair whilst you are referring to me as 'my dear Elizabeth' both in private and public."

"I can stop if it embarrasses you."

"No. It does not." She paused. "Fitzwilliam."

Darcy smiled, pulling her to him for another kiss. She pulled away too soon for his liking but when he opened his eyes and looked at her he saw she was nibbling at her lip, looking nervous.

"Elizabeth?"

"I just had a sudden thought." Darcy waited as she continued to nibble her lip. Usually it made him want to kiss her even more, but he restrained himself as she was clearly on the edge of discussing a matter of importance to her. "I said something last night. When we were, um, engaging in that act. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I had meant to tell you before that. It was not a spur of the moment statement. I... I do love you, Fitzwilliam. I realised that long before last night, I just never found the right moment to tell you. I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now I have said it once it seems I cannot stop." She giggled to herself. "I love you!"

She stopped then, watching Darcy for his response. But Darcy had lost all powers of speech, he could do nothing more than stare at her in amazement, as joy radiated throughout his body. She loved him. Once more his darling Elizabeth loved him. In those few words all his fears for their future were swept aside. It did not matter what else life might swing at them, as long as they could face it together. Realizing she still waited for his response, he cupped her face in his hands, staring down at those beloved glittering green eyes.

"There are not words to express how much pleasure your words bring me," he told her, then he pulled her lips to his again. To kiss her now, fully secure in her love, only heightened his pleasure, and this time she did not pull away. He felt her hand on his still bare chest, and the nightdress she had only just put back on found itself by his ministrations on the floor again. He felt a new force driving him, as he pushed her down onto the bed, his lips caressing every inch of her skin they could, this was not the blind lust of last night, this was a need to prove to a woman who loved him how much he loved her too.

~o~ ~O~ ~o

When their bodies separated, Darcy and Elizabeth lay still for a few moments, her head on his chest as they both tried to catch their breath. Darcy remembered their awkward interactions earlier in the morning, and wondered if he would now see a repeat of them. It had taken Elizabeth's weeks to be fully comfortable around him the first time round, he could not expect that now would be any different.

"Mr. Darcy, much as I do not wish to end our time together, I do believe we should be getting up for the morning." Elizabeth had sat up, taking the blanket with her, and was looking over at where the sunlight snuck in to the room through the gap in the curtain. Darcy groaned but sat up alongside her. He made no effort to cover himself, though his most private area was still covered nonetheless.

"Would you like me to close my eyes again so you can find your nightdress?"

"Find it?" Elizabeth repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure where I threw it," Darcy admitted sheepishly. "I was rather pre-occupied."

Elizabeth gave a small laugh at that comment. "I suppose that is a reasonable excuse." Darcy closed his eyes once more. It took Elizabeth longer to find her nightdress this time, Darcy could hear her moving around and mumbling as she searched for it. Finally, he heard her say he could open his eyes.

"You somehow got it near the door," she told him. Darcy chuckled. "I need to call for the maid to help me dress but I imagine you will want to get dressed first. Would you like me to close my eyes?"

"You can if you wish. If it makes you more comfortable." Elizabeth did choose to close her eyes, and Darcy set about dressing himself. He had not brought his valet to Netherfield with him, and given his current sleeping set up it seemed easier to dress himself then to have to bring two members of Bingley's staff to their room. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was more in need of assistance due to the nature of her dresses.

"I am finished," he told her once he was dressed. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open.

"I'll see you soon in at the dining table," Darcy told her with a smile. He placed a chaste kiss to her lips before leaving as she rang the bell for the maid.

As Darcy walked into the dining room, he noted that only Bingley was there. "Morning, Darcy," he called. Bingley looked only a little less sleep deprived than he had yesterday but he sounded as cheery as ever.

"Morning, Bingley." Darcy's reply if more muted was no less genuine. "Where are my sisters?"

"Jane is in the nursery with our son. As for Miss. Darcy I am afraid I have not seen her this morning, for Jane insisted that one of us should at least try to get some sleep, so I have only just risen. But what is your excuse, Darcy? You are not usually one for sleeping the morning away."

Darcy did his best to keep his face straight, even as his mind flew to what had had him quite so occupied this morning. Certainly not sleeping, he thought to himself. He turned away from Bingley to the side table laden with food in an attempt to hide his face, replying as he loaded his plate.

"I assure you I shall be up with cockerel's crow once more tomorrow morning if it puts your mind at ease." It was a bad joke, Darcy knew, and he had no intention of leaving his bed any earlier than Elizabeth wanted him to, but he hoped it might distract Bingley.

Bingley just shook his head. "I heard the cockerel's crow myself this morning. Just. My son has a healthy set of lungs on him." Bingley gave a tired smile, but Darcy could easily see the pride there. He felt the usual twist in his stomach, but it was not as bad as he had grown to expect. Perhaps because ever since Elizabeth had awoken without her memories he had come to think that the child they had lost may have been their only opportunity to have a child together. But now, after last night and this morning, he knew that was no longer a definitive truth. Even now his seed could be taking route in Elizabeth's womb. But no, he told himself, he was letting his thoughts get ahead of themselves. It had been months into their marriage before Elizabeth had fallen with child originally, it would be an extraordinary stroke of luck if she were to be with child so quickly this time round. Perhaps that was for the best, Darcy thought. They still needed time to settle into the rhythms on this new stage in their marriage - to reconcile and regroup - it would be better if there were to have a child at a later stage. But if it were to happen then it would happen when it happened, there was little Darcy could to do to control it, beyond the one option he knew he did not have the self control to even contemplate.

"Whatever are you thinking so intently on, Darcy? Though I can think of only one topic that makes you smile so broadly."

Darcy felt no need to slip on his stoic mask around his friend. "And you would be right. I was merely looking towards the possibilities of the future."

"How fares Elizabeth?" Bingley asked. " Between my son and our wives' family, I have had little chance to speak with you alone since your arrival. You wrote she suffered from memory loss." Darcy hesitated, unsure even where to begin with all that happened between himself and his wife. Bingley took his hesitance as reluctance. "You need not answer if you wish not to. But you are a dear friend and she is my sister, I am sure you understand my worry."

"Elizabeth is becoming more like her old self," Darcy told his friend. "Her memories do appear to be returning, albeit it at a slow pace. And our marriage is more like what it once was."

Bingley beamed at his friend. "This is most good news. You did have us most worried with that distressed letter you wrote. And then with Mrs. Darcy not replying to her sister, I know you had warned us of the doctor's advice, but it still startled Jane."

"I apologise for that letter, Bingley. Rest assured the situation is nowhere near as bleak as I once worried it was."

"No need for apologies, Darcy. You had just experienced a terrible upheaval in your life - one cannot be expected to be at their most coherent at such a time."

"I most certainly was not." With little else to say on the subject Darcy lapsed into silence and Bingley followed his lead, taking up the morning's newspaper as Darcy continued with his meal. Such they were when Elizabeth entered the room. Bingley lowered the newspaper to call out a greeting but could not hide the surprise from the face.

"I had assumed you had already arisen and had gone for a walk, Mrs. Darcy," Bingley told her.

"No, I choose to indulge in sleeping in late for a change, Mr. Bingley." Darcy noticed the blotches of red on her cheeks as she spoke, and wondered what she was thinking. Was she merely embarrassed at the idea of her brother figuring out why she had been so late to rise? Or was she remembering their embrace with fondness? Much as Darcy had earlier she turned to help herself to food from the side table and effectively hid her face from her host.

"I cannot fault you there," Bingley said."Though it so very unlike both you and Darcy to sleep in so late." Darcy literally saw the moment on Bingley's face when comprehension dawned on him. Elizabeth's back still turned to him, Bingley quirked an eyebrow in silent question at his friend. Darcy - never one for over sharing - merely rolled his eyes in response and turned his attention back to the plate in front of him.

Once Elizabeth sat down and began eating the conversation turned to more casual matters. Bingley shared the leading news stories from the day's newspaper with his companions. Darcy had now finished his meal but unaware of his wife's plans for the day he stayed and talked to Bingley whilst she ate. Once she was finished she asked after the whereabouts of her sister, and whether her family were expected at Netherfield that day.

"I think I shall join her," Elizabeth announced after being informed of Jane's being in the nursery. Having been informed the Bennets were expected over in the afternoon Darcy knew he was not expected to travel to Longbourn that day. He had the morning free and he pondered what to do to fill his time. Bingley announced that he must go to his study for he had matters to attend to that had been neglected in the excitement of Thomas's birth. The choice between joining his wife in the nursery or his friend in the study was an easy enough one for Darcy.

Jane was not to be found in the nursery when the Darcys entered. The nursery maid informed them that Mrs. Bingley had gone to her chambers to rest whilst the babe slept.

"He looks so peaceful," Elizabeth whispered, staring at Thomas as he slept in his crib. She carefully stroked the soft tuft of blonde hair sticking up from his head.

"I imagine it is a different story when he is awake," Darcy replied with the ghost of a smile. It was a somewhat forced joke. He could not help but envy Bingley his son. Even now when the question of his own future children was not as undecided as it had seemed just a few short weeks ago.

He felt Elizabeth's hand gently take his own. He turned his attention from his nephew to his wife, who observed him thoughtfully. Was his desire for a child obvious for her to see? And what would she think of it? This Elizabeth who had only just started to see herself as his wife again.

"You should know, Mr. Darcy - Fitzwilliam -that I want nothing more than to bear you a child." She paused and Darcy's thoughts raced. Words so simply stated and yet they upended his entire world. Before he could form a coherent response she continued, "And not because I know you want another child, or as an attempt to replace the daughter I lost-"

"No," Darcy interrupted. "We lost. There is no blame, no responsibility, to be placed there." Darcy had had to have this conversation repeatedly with Elizabeth after she had miscarried. It had eaten him up, watching his wife blame herself for something she could not prevent. He did not want Elizabeth feeling that same way once more. "She was our daughter, and she was lost to us by the cruelties of life. You are not responsible, Elizabeth."

"I was her mother, was I not? Should I not have kept her safe and alive? And yet I don't even remember her." Much to Darcy's distress Elizabeth had started to cry. He cupped her beloved face in his hand, wiping the tears away "You say I did not even know she was there before she was gone. But now it is like she never existed. I lost our child, Fitzwilliam. And then I lost her again. Even if it was just memories of pain and blood. At least I knew she existed, that she had once lived within me, rather than her feeling like a person who I know of but have never known. Like a person from the history books. Or the men and women you read of in far away lands. People that you know existed, yet it's just a fact you know, their existence never personally touches your life. That is how our daughter is to me. I know that she existed. But to me she's just a concept. A thought. Not another human being who grew inside me, who would have grown to be my daughter." Elizabeth gave up to the tears engulfing her, crying loudly into Darcy's shoulders. Darcy knew not how to respond but to hold her close whilst she cried. He could tell this was a matter his wife had kept bottled up within her, until it had built and built into this explosion of grief. But he could not think how to comfort her. There was nothing he could do to return her memory of her miscarriage to her, and even then he did not think it would help if he could. He fought against the swell of memories rising in his mind, but he could not push away the remembrance of the sight of Elizabeth's blood and her agonising screams of pain. Or how withdrawn she had become afterwards. Self-depreciating and depressed, so very unlike the woman he loved. No, Darcy had considered it a blessing - perhaps the only good that had arisen from this entire situation - that Elizabeth should have had those memories swiped clean from her mind, but he had not considered the side effects of this. That Elizabeth was trying to grieve for a child who she only had his word to confirm had once existed.

Elizabeth jumped from his embrace when Thomas's loud screams filled the room. Her loud sobs had woken the child.

"Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy." Both Darcys were startled by the appearance of the nursery maid, even as they hastened to move out of her way. Distracted by their grief, they had forgotten she was in the room, and Darcy hoped she was not the kind of servant given to gossip. Not on a subject as delicate as the one they had just discussed.

"Mrs. Weeks," Elizabeth called the maid's name as she picked up the screaming child.

"I shan't repeat a word, ma'am," the maid said before Elizabeth could even raise the issue. "And I am sorry for your loss. But - if I may say so - a young couple like yourselves should not give up hope."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weeks," Darcy told her, making a mental note to find a way to inform Bingley about this act of decency on his nursery's maid part without sharing the details of Elizabeth's confession. Taking Elizabeth's hand he lead her out of the nursery and to their own room.

"Elizabeth, I -" Darcy began.

"There is little to be done about the situation," Elizabeth told him dully. "It is why I have not shared my sorrows on the matter before. But being here, seeing Jane's son." She closed her eyes and brushed away the last remnants of her tears. "I know it is hard for you, too. Speaking of which, I never finished what I was originally trying to tell you earlier. I want to have another child with you, Fitzwilliam." Her lip quirked ever so slightly as she said his Christian name without it being a correction. But then it drooped and her face turned wholly serious once more. "And I want to do it not because I know it's what you want, or to replace the child we lost, but because I can imagine nothing that would make me happier than to be the mother of your child. Because I love you and I want us to have a family. Children - half you and half me." Darcy thought his heart might explode at her gentle honest words. Hugging her close he whispered in her ear,

"There is nothing I want more either."


	16. A Scoundrel's Return

**Chapter 16 - A Scoundrel's Return**

"Why I want to see my wife, of course! And the woman who was so very nearly my wife. I hear she is in residency here as well!"

Georgiana, along with the other current residents of Netherfield Hall, had been drawn by the cacophony of noise to the entrance hall. Looking over the banisters from the floor above, her heart constricted in her chest when she saw George Wickham below, shouting at Mr Bingley's steward demanding entrance. The tightness in her chest only increased when he gave his reason for visiting.

'The woman who was so very nearly my wife.' He meant her. She knew he meant her. Was this it? Was the secret of her own stupidity to finally be revealed to the world?

A gasp from beside her drew her attention. Lydia Wickham stared down at her husband in horror. Georgiana felt herself moving closer to the other woman and their eyes met. Did Lydia see her own fear reflected back in Georgiana's eyes? Her own horror at the man that would have ruined her life just like he had ruined Lydia's.

"You cannot turn me away. I will speak to my wife. It is my right." Georgiana heard the terrified gulp beside her, but at the continuation of his shouting she had turned her attention back to the man in the entrance hall below and found she could not now tear her eyes away from him. How she had wished she would never see his face again. Fitzwilliam had reassured her, when he had explained that Elizabeth's sister had married Mr. Wickham, that she need never set eyes on him. That the Wickhams would never be welcome at Pemberley.

"And I wish to see my daughter. I am her father - you cannot keep her from me." At these words Georgiana looked over once more at Lydia, whose eyes flickered over to the doorway of the nursery where her daughter napped alongside her cousin and then back below to where her daughter's father stood demanding to see them. Lydia's eyes continued this dance whilst her husband blustered below them. Her fear for her daughter emitted from her every motion.

As Mr. Wickham once more repeated his demands to see his daughter, Georgiana felt herself move closer to Lydia, taking her hand in her own as they watched the man they both feared below them.

"That is quite enough, Wickham." Fitzwilliam's voice was icy as he emerged from the parlour room with Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth.

"Ah Darcy, old chap!" Wickham maintained a faux cheeriness. The grin plastered onto his features sent a shiver down Georgiana's spine. "And Miss. Elizabeth." He bowed to Elizabeth.

"Mrs. Darcy," she corrected, her voice as cold as her husband's.

"Of course. My apologies. But returning to the matter at hand, this man is refusing to let me speak with my wife. Shall I speak to you about her, Darcy? And the woman who was almost my wife whilst we are at it?" Wickham's voice was polite but Georgiana heard the threat in it, and no doubt Darcy and Elizabeth did too.

Lydia gave another frightened squeak at this outburst and Georgiana reflectively tightened her grip on the other woman's hand, whether this was for Lydia's comfort or her own she was not sure. Unlike her companion Georgiana remained silent but internally her emotions were in turmoil. What did he mean by continuing to refer to her as 'the woman who was almost my wife'? What good did he think this would serve him? It certainly would never help him with getting into Fitzwilliam's good books. Or did he know that was now no longer possible and instead he was holding the knowledge of Georgiana's stupidity over her brother's head as a threat?

"He won't let him near me, will he?" Georgiana turned back to look at Lydia as she asked this question.

"Of course not," Georgiana replied. "Fitzwilliam will make sure you come to no harm." Even as the words left her mouth Georgiana wondered at the truth on them. For if it was a choice between protecting herself or Lydia, which would her brother chose? Georgiana knew that was not even a question. Her brother would chose her. Looking at Lydia's pleading eyes that knowledge brought her no comfort.

Beneath them, Wickham had started following Darcy up the stairs, they would be heading towards Bingley's study Georgiana assumed. In a sudden burst of movement, Lydia pulled Georgiana backwards and into the nearest room.

"What is he doing here?" Lydia muttered. "What does he want with me?" She paced from one end of the room and back. Georgiana watched her, wishing she knew the right words with which to answer her questions. Elizabeth would know, she thought. Or Fitzwilliam. They would know how to calm Lydia's distress. But Georgiana's mind was blank. For she knew the answer was that Wickham had come to claim his wife and daughter, and she assumed from his earlier performance that he intended to use the knowledge of her own near elopement as blackmail against Mr. Darcy. She also knew that explanation would not be of any comfort to Lydia. But what could she tell her that would not be a downright lie?

"I have to know!" Lydia announced, more to herself than Georgiana, and strode out of the room with determination. Georgiana hesitated for a few seconds and then followed, trying her best to ignore the ever growing tension in her stomach.

She found Lydia crouched down beside the door to Mr. Bingley' study, with her ear pressed against the keyhole.

"Mrs. Wick-, Lydia, what are you doing?" Georgiana asked, confused.

"What does it look like I am doing?" Lydia replied. "I want to know what they are saying about me."

And me, Georgiana thought and felt another twist in her gut.

"What are they saying?" Georgiana's fear mixed with curiosity got the better of her.

"They're talking about Georgiana!" Lydia's words were a fearful whisper. "But it doesn't make much sense to me."

Georgiana's heartbeat accelerated and her breathing grew shallow. Thankfully, Lydia was too intent upon her attempts to catch the words on the other side of the door to notice the sudden change in her companion. With a sudden decisiveness to match Lydia's earlier display, Georgiana knelt on the floor beside Lydia. With Lydia at the keyhole she had no choice but to bend over to the floor and press her ear against the gap in the bottom.

"What game are you playing this time, Wickham?" She had to strain to hear them but Georgiana managed to catch her brother's words.

"Game, Darcy? No game. I only request the return of my wife and daughter. It is not much to ask for, is it? And perhaps a new commission - I grow tired of Newcastle. Perhaps somewhere nearer Town? And a higher position, of course."

"Have you ever once considered that you should work towards what you want out of your life, rather than relying on tricks, and betrayal, and blackmail?"

"Oh, I've considered it many a time. But every time I do, I do not think it quite fair. That I should have to put in such effort when a man like yourself is given so much for having done so little to earn it."

"We cannot help the consequences of our birth, Wickham. And your lot was not so wicked as you would make it out to have been. You had a living set aside for you. You could have lived comfortably all your days, Wickham, and you would never have known poverty or debt as long as you were sensible. There is many a man in this land who would be thankful to have been born to that."

"Would you have liked that, Darcy? If I'd have lived out my days as a snivelling parson. Nothing more than a humble servant of Pemberley estate and its mighty master."

"You were my friend, Wickham." Her brother's voice dropped so quiet Georgiana barely caught his words, but nonetheless she heard the hurt contained within them.

"Indeed I was." Wickham's reply was nearly as quiet as her brother's. Georgiana was not sure if she had imagined the wistful nature of it, though it was certainly the least hostile she had heard him. "But reflecting on the past helps me not. A man in my situation must focus on the present. You know what I want, Darcy, and what I will do if I do not receive it."

"Mrs. Wickham? Miss. Darcy? Are you in need of assistance?" Georgiana jumped to her feet at the sound of her name. Feeling the heat flooding her face, she turned to face Mrs. Nicholls.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Nicholls. My shoelace had become untied and Miss. Darcy was helping me," Lydia lied without hesitation.

The small rise of her eyebrows gave away Mrs. Nicholls' disbelief but her voice remained even when she replied, "Then I apologise for disturbing you, ma'am. Are you and Miss. Darcy heading down to join your sisters in the parlour? I believe tea and refreshments have just been served."

"Yes, that is exactly what we are doing. Thank you, Mrs. Nicholls." Lydia grabbed hold of Georgiana's arm and she found herself being marched down the stairs.

"Interfering woman!" Lydia muttered to her.

"She was in the right. We should not have been trying to overhear Fitzwilliam's conversation with Mr. Wickham."

"I have a right to know what plans are being made for my future! And the future of my daughter." A sudden look of fear overtook Lydia then. "Georgiana! I have to fetch her!" Lydia let go of Georgiana's arm and ran back up the stairs. Once more Georgiana hesitated a few moments before following her. She found Lydia in the nursery removing her daughter from her cradle whilst the nursery maid looked on in confusion. The girl started to cry softly at this disruption to her sleep and Lydia shushed her as she took her into her arms.

"Sshh, my beautiful girl. It's going to be okay. I'm going to keep you safe. I'm going to take you far away."

"Far away?" Georgiana asked. "What do you mean? Lydia?" But Lydia had already scurried back out of the nursery. Georgiana shared a bemused look with the nursery maid, who was now bent over Thomas' crib trying to soothe him back to sleep after the disruption to his nursery.

I should go tell Elizabeth, Georgiana thought, let her know her sister is thinking of running away again. But then Elizabeth would find a way to make Lydia stay. And what would happen to her and her daughter then? What deal was Mr. Darcy making with Mr. Wickham? Would he placate Mr. Wickham with the return of his wife and daughter to protect Georgiana's reputation? If that was the only available option Georgiana believed he would take it. He would not be proud of the decision but it was a decision he would undertake nonetheless for her sake.

Would she let him?

No one had told her exactly why Lydia had run from Mr. Wickham and she had never asked. But she was not a fool. She saw the fear in Lydia's eyes. She knew it was this fear that had caused Lydia to run away, to live feral in the grounds of Pemberley for a month, to lie about Fitzwilliam pushing Elizabeth. It could only mean that life as Wickham's wife was even worse than Georgiana had ever imagined it could be, and in her regret she had imagined every possible scenario she could. But she was young and sheltered and she knew the realities of the world were harsher and more terrible than anything she could imagine.

She saw once more in her mind Lydia's fearful eyes. Her stricken whispers to her daughter.

Georgiana could not let her be sent back to him.

Like Lydia before her she swept out of the nursery in a rush of energy, but she turned and rushed until she was stood outside the door to Mr. Bingley's study. Once outside she paused, took a deep breath to try and calm herself, and pushed open the door.

It was hard to say who looked more surprised at her sudden entrance, Mr. Darcy or Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham recovered from his shock first and greeted her with a smile that Georgiana had once thought charming but now she could only see as a sneer.

"Miss. Darcy, what a pleasant surprise. Darcy and myself were just discussing your good health." Georgiana doubted it was her health they were discussing but kept the thought to herself.

"Georgiana, what are you doing here? I thought you would be downstairs with Elizabeth and her family." Her brother had recovered from his earlier stupefaction at her entrance. She recognised the carefully worded order in his words but Georgiana Darcy found herself doing something she had never thought she would. She ignored her brother.

"I have no desire to pretend at niceties with you, Mr. Wickham," she told him. She was not sure how she managed to keep her voice sounding so calm. She did not want to show her fear or her nerves in front of Mr. Wickham. She wanted to appear in control, as if he did not bother her any more. "But the reason I have interrupted my brother and yourself is because I think I have figured out what trick you are here to enact, and I may not know the full details of what has occurred in your marriage, but what I do know is enough for me to know that in good conscience I cannot allow Lydia and her daughter to leave with you today. No matter what you threaten." It was the longest speech Georgiana had ever given in her life. When reflecting upon it afterwards she would be amazed at herself, unable to believe that she had found the courage or the words. But for just one brief moment of time all of Georgiana's shyness vanished in a certainty that these were words that she had to say.

Her anxiety returned as soon as the words were out of her mouth and she found herself speechless once more, her gaze flickering between the two people in the room, not sure whose reaction she feared more. She wanted her brother to speak up, to reassure her that he supported her actions. What she wanted Mr. Wickham's reaction to be she did not know. For though ideally he would agree to leave and never come back, she was not naive enough to truly believe that possible.

But instead a silence dragged on, as both men stared at her as speechless as she was, and just as surprised at her sudden outburst.

"I could ruin you." It was Mr. Wickham who broke the silence, all attempt at civility gone. "I could make a mockery of this family, just as you try to make one out of me. But it all matters little. By the laws of this land you cannot stop me from leaving this house with my wife and daughter. I just wished to remind the two of you that where you are concerned there is an extra incentive for you to follow said laws." He turned his back on Georgiana, a cold dismissal of a woman he had once claimed to love, and focused his attention back on Darcy. "It is your choice, Darcy. Which sister do you choose?"

Georgiana could do little but continue to watch the conversation unravelling before her, reeling from the thought that her intervention would be for nothing, Wickham would win, and he may just start a scandal about her out of spite. Or expect to be paid for silence. She had tried to be brave and do the right thing and she had failed.

"Actually, Wickham, it is your choice. I have tried to show some consideration to you, out of respect for my late father, and for the boy who was once my friend. My sincerest hope was that you could find some remaining good in you, that you would repent your conduct, admit to your sins, see the fault in your actions, and at least promise to try and improve, to be a better husband and father. But instead you have come in here with no shame, with nothing but threats and insinuations. I will have no more of you, Wickham."

Wickham chuckled darkly to himself. "And how will you have rid of me, Darcy? My wife is your sister. We are brothers. Would that not have made your dear deceased father content?"

"I do not think there is anything about who you are now that would have pleased the man who favoured you. He saw a bright future for you, Wickham, tried to help provide you with it, and you squandered it away. So do not dare to speak of what my father would have wished for." Georgiana had never heard her brother's voice so steel cold before. It scared her more than she would have cared to admit.

"But I will speak of it, Darcy. For if there was one thing old Mr. Darcy valued above all else, it was his family, and his family name. The same name you and dear Georgiana now seem content to allow to be dragged through the mud. All to save one silly little slut." Mr. Wickham spat the last word. Georgiana had never heard it before, though she could tell it was an insult. No doubt it was a word her brother would have preferred her not to hear.

Georgiana found her voice once more to ask a question that puzzled her greatly, "If that is how you feel about your wife then why are you desperate to have her back?" Why was Mr. Wickham so determined to retrieve a wife he held such little affection towards even to point of threatening blackmail? And if she secretly hoped the question might make Mr. Wickham see sense, then that was a desire she would not reveal to anyone, for she highly doubted its effectiveness.

Both men seemed startled at her interruption and Georgiana suspected they had been so focused on their anger and contempt for the other that they had entirely forgotten her presence.

"Principle, I suppose," Mr. Wickham answered her question with a careless shrug. "I have no desire to be a cuckold." Another word Georgiana did not understand. She was not willing to admit this ignorance by asking though.

"Georgiana, I think it would be for the best if you left Mr. Wickham and myself to finish our conversation," her brother interjected. His words and face were stern. This was no subtle hint she could ignore. It was an order he clearly expected her to obey. "This is quickly descending into a conversation that is not for the ears of a young lady." This last comment was said with a pointed glare at Mr. Wickham, who ignored it, and Georgiana assumed referred to the words she had not understood.

Georgiana was not in the habit of disobeying her brother. Obedience to the much elder brother she adored had come easily to her all her life. She had always trusted him to know and act as was best. But this one time she could not obey him until she had reassurance.

"I meant what I said, brother," she told him.

"I understand, Georgiana. But he will not hurt you or Lydia again, I promise."

"Oh, will I not, Darcy?" Mr. Wickham sounded more amused than anything. Her brother ignored him, his eyes still trained on Georgiana.

"Georgiana, go, please." A gentler request this time. And with such a promise made to her, Georgiana was willing to obey as faithfully as she ever had. If Fitzwilliam had promised her that neither Georgiana or Lydia would be hurt, then she would believe him.

"Yes, brother," she replied. She gave a small courtesy at her brother before sweeping out of the room, forcing herself to not even give Mr. Wickham a glance.

Once the door shut behind her Georgiana released a breath she had not even realized she was holding. It was now that her shock and awe at her own actions began to settle in to her. That the Georgiana who had swept into the study, looked Mr. Wickham in the eye and declared that she would not be threatened by him began to already feel like a different person. For how could quiet shy little Georgiana Darcy have done that?

It was in this state Elizabeth found her. Still stood outside Mr. Bingley's study trying to reconcile herself with what she had just done.

"Georgiana, what are you doing out here?"

"I, um, I, um..." Now that she had done it Georgiana found herself more nervous trying to explain what she had done than she had been as she stood in the room. "I had to have my say, Elizabeth. Whatever bad decisions she had made in the past, I cannot, we cannot, allow that, that, man, to take Lydia and that poor young girl away with him again. I know not what he has done to her, but I know it is a fate worth saving her from."

Elizabeth gave a small smile in Georgiana's direction. "That was brave of you, Georgiana. Those are the words of a compassionate and clever young lady, and I know the strength it must have taken for you to say them."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I only hope Fitzwilliam agrees with you." Georgiana's stomach turned over once more, the worst it had all day. For if she feared Mr. Wickham, then she feared her brother's disappointment even more.

"I am certain he will."

Georgiana suddenly remembered the main issue at hand.

"Elizabeth, have you seen Lydia?"

"No. I meant to find her as soon as I saw Wickham but I got embroiled in an attempt to calm my mother. I had assumed she would be in the nursery."

"She was." No need to tell Elizabeth about their eavesdropping. "But she panicked and fled with Miss. Wickham. I think she has run away again."

Elizabeth sighed. "Oh, Lydia! Not again. We have to find her. Preferably without anyone else learning she had gone missing again. The last thing we need is my mother's wailing informing Wickham that his wife is out there somewhere, alone and unprotected." Georgiana gasped at the bleak picture Elizabeth's words painted. "She cannot have gone far. We will find her, Georgiana. But what then?"

Elizabeth glanced meaningfully at the study door.

"Fitzwilliam promised me he would allow no more harm to come to Mrs. Wickham," Georgiana told her.

"I know he never would. It is Mr. Wickham I do not trust. So difficult to believe now that I once did." Elizabeth bit her lip in thought. "But nevertheless that matters little now. We must find Lydia. And bring her home. You are right, Fitzwilliam will not allow her to come to any harm here, especially at the hands of that dreadful man. We had best split up if it is to be only the two of us in this search, as I think is best so as to keep this matter private. If I check the surrounding lands and woods - I still know them like the back of my hand and in my mind it is less than a year since I used to roam them - can you find your way into Meryton?"

"I think so, yes."

With their plan decided upon Elizabeth and Georgiana hurried to gather their outdoor attire and, deflecting Mrs. Bennet and her other daughters with a lie about wishing for fresh air, they left Netherfield Hall. It reminded Georgiana of their clandestine trip to the woods of Pemberley weeks before, a trip that had also ended with the discovery of Lydia Wickham, though unlike now that had not been the intention at the outset.

At the main road into Netherfield estate they parted ways, wishing the other good luck, as Elizabeth disappeared into the surrounding countryside and Georgiana continued along the main road towards Meryton.

She felt a gnawing doubt that she should not have agreed to part company. Hertfordshire was not her home, she did not know it as Elizabeth did, nor did she know Lydia Wickham as her sister by birth did. What would she say if she was to find Lydia? Would a promise from Fitzwilliam be enough to convince Lydia she was safe? Lydia did not trust Fitzwilliam, that much was abundantly obvious. If her opinion on her sister's husband seemed to have mellowed in the weeks she had resided at Pemberley, Georgiana doubted it would be enough for her to trust Fitzwilliam with something as important as her safety or that of her daughter, and she did not know how she could convince Lydia that she should.

But in the end Georgiana did not reach Meryton. She found Lydia and her daughter sat a small distance from the roadside on a fallen log, the daughter watching her mother's face as she sat in deep concentration.

"Mrs. Wickham?"

Lydia jumped at the sound of her name. She looked up, frightened. The fear only slowly diminished when she recognised who had come to find her.

"I started to run away again," Lydia told her. "Then I realised I had taken no money. Nothing but the clothes on our backs. My first escape was fairly ill thought out but this time I gave it no thought at all. I could think of nothing but placing distance between myself and the man I call husband. I have nowhere to go. So I stopped and sat down. I cannot go back to Netherfield. Cannot go back to Longbourn - my home - it is the first place they'll look. No point going into Meryton with no money for a stagecouch. And I will not get very far walking before your brother comes and finds me."

"You say that like it would be a bad turn of events but I assure you my brother means you no harm. He has promised me no harm will come to you irregardless of what Mr. Wickham threatens."

"Even if he threatens to tarnish your name? The woman who was almost his wife. He kept repeating those words. He meant you, did he not?"

Georgiana opened her mouth - whether to confirm or deny Lydia's suspicions she did not know - but found no words came out. This was it. Her secret was out. Known to a woman who was not known for her subtleness and who faced her own desperate situation.

Would Lydia Wickham use the knowledge of Georgiana's mistake against her? She was after all the woman who in desperation had tried to claim Fitzwilliam had pushed Elizabeth down a hill to her near catastrophic accident.

But Lydia uttered no threats, she simply asked, "How old were you?"

"Fifteen. Same as you." Georgiana sat down beside Lydia on the log.

"Did he tell you he loved you?"

"Yes."

"Was he lying?"

"Yes."

"We are nothing to him, are we? Just tools to gain him what he wants."

"Money and revenge," Georgiana muttered.

"And now he will use that knowledge for both. For I have observed your brother these past weeks, and whilst I still cannot see the attraction, he is not as cold a man as he first appears. He loves Elizabeth. And he loves you. And he will not let your reputation go to ruin for my sake. Silly foolish Lydia Wickham."

"That is not true. I said he had promised me no harm would come to you irregardless of what Mr. Wickham threatened. That included threatens against myself. I may not fully know what you have suffered, Mrs. Wickham, and I think this is one of those situations where ignorance is, indeed, bliss." At this last Lydia gave a little humourless laugh. "But I see how you fear him, and even more so how you fear for your daughter, and I will not let you be hurt again on my behalf. Because of my foolishness. You are not the only one here who was a fool, Mrs. Wickham. I got lucky, I was saved, but our actions were the same. I cannot condemn you for them. Nor can Fitzwilliam, who forgave me for the very same actions. Come home, Mrs. Wickham, you will be safe."

"I have no other option, do I?" Lydia gave a tired smile. "But I thank you for your kind words, Miss. Darcy." Georgiana stood up and held out her hand to help Lydia raise herself and her daughter from the log.

Lydia was uncharacteristically quiet as they began the walk back to Netherfield. Georgiana left her to her thoughts, thinking instead of where Elizabeth would be and how best to send a message informing her of her sister's safe return if she was still out searching once they arrived back.

It was then she spotted a figure rushing up the path towards them. An all too familiar figure. Both Georgiana and Lydia froze to a halt. Georgiana could not believe such bad luck. Of all the people and all the paths, they had happened upon the same one as the man who had tried to ruin both their lives. A man she had already faced down once today. She did not think she had the courage for a second time.

He did not appear to have noticed them. He strode up the path towards them, but he was intent on his purpose, deep in thought. And Georgiana contemplated on how his meeting with her brother had ended. Had her brother broke his promise? Was Mr. Wickham out here looking for Lydia? But no, she reassured herself, Fitzwilliam would not have done that. And Mr. Wickham did not look like a man on a search. He looked like a man on a mission against a world he hated. She could see that as he came closer to them, his expression seething, his body language tense. He still had not noticed them, and she pulled Lydia over to the side, and indicated that they should keep walking. With both their heads turned away from him, as though they had found something of great interest in the countryside to the side of them, they continued walking.

It nearly worked. He did indeed walk past them without noticing who they were, so distracted by whatever occupied his thoughts, but just as the two young woman swapped secretive gleeful smiles a voice rung out behind them, freezing them in their places.

"Now there is two girls I never expected to find enjoying each other's company. Have all my nightmares collided? The girl who never stops talking and the girl who never talks."

Georgiana turned to face Mr. Wickham, but Lydia remained where she was, clinging to her daughter.

"You looked like you were leaving, Mr. Wickham. Do not let us stop you." The words were pleasant and light, and Georgiana was aware she was emulating Elizabeth's manner of insulting with clever words and a smile.

"I think I preferred you when you did not talk."

Georgiana wished she had another witty comeback, another of Elizabeth's mannerisms to copy, but her mind was a blank. All she wanted was to grab Lydia and run away. Then she realised there was nothing stopping her from doing exactly that.

"Good day, Mr. Wickham." She resisted her well trained polite habit to courtesy and turned away from the man who had haunted her for the last two years, praying Lydia would follow her.

They did not get more than two steps before his voice rung out behind them again.

"And where do you think you and our daughter are going, Mrs. Wickham?"

Lydia hesitated. Then she gave herself a little shake and, passing the younger Georgiana into the arms of her surprised namesake, took a step towards her husband.

"Home," she replied. "And I do not mean Newcastle."

"But has your new friend not told you? You are to come home with me."

"No!" Lydia shook her head wildly, staring at him in fear.

"No!" Georgiana echoed. "Fitzwilliam promised."

"Aww, maybe it's time you learnt little Georgie, people like your brother don't keep their promises. Did he tell you that you were safe from me, Lydia? Did he promise you that, too?"

"I won't go home with you, George! Just let me stay. Please." Her words started out as defiant but ended in a desperate plea. "All we did is make each other miserable."

"Misery likes company, as the saying goes. Your father told me that, Georgiana. My mother and your mother died around the same time, did you know that? Somehow old Mr. Darcy found it easier to speak to me of the loss of my mother than he did to speak to your brother about the loss of his. Perhaps it was simply easier for him to think of. Did your brother ever tell you the story of the vase?"

"The story of the vase?" Georgiana was curious, despite herself. Fitzwilliam rarely spoke of their parents, especially their mother. He had told her on many an occasion that they were good people who loved her, but little else.

"Oh, don't do your tricks, George!" Georgiana's contemplations were broken by Lydia's shriek. "Your little distractions."

"Fitzwilliam was right," Georgiana told him, a sudden cold burst of anger filling her. "You do not have the right to talk of my father. Even less my mother."

"Just ask him about the vase, little Georgie. One of the great Fitzwilliam Darcy's biggest regrets."

"Stop tricking her!" Lydia again. The babe in Georgiana's arms begun to scream, arms wailing for her mother. Georgiana tried her best to shush her, but having never handled a child before she had no idea where to even begin with the task.

"Take our daughter back off her little unintentional namesake and then we all go home, my dear Lydia. Be a family."

Lydia shook her head at him. "No," she stated. "No!" Again, louder. "I will not go home with you. You will have to drag me back up north, kicking and screaming. Take me with you, Wickham, and I will make your life a misery. I will never shut up. You will grow so tired of the sound of my voice. You will never have hot food on the table or clean clothes or a tidy house. I will flirt with every man who comes near me till you're a laughing stock. Might even have an affair or two. I will be the worst wife there ever was."

"You would not do that, Lydia. You know what would happen to you if you did." Wickham's voice is chilling, all amiability - faked or not - gone.

"Oh, I know," Lydia agreed, anger in every syllable. "You would make me a miserable wreck in return. I am fully aware of that. I would make you suffer, you would make me suffer, and on, and on, and on, until we're both dead. Because that's how it'll end this time, can't you see it? One murdered, one hanged. I am not sure who would snap first." She giggled, a eerie sinister sound, a sound that suggested a twisted amusement at the thought, and Georgiana felt goosebumps rise on her arm. She tightened her hold on the girl in her arms, not sure which of her parents she was most disturbed by at the present moment of time. "Do you think you could murder me, George?" Lydia had taken another step towards her estranged husband. A bitter smile played on her lips. "It would be the only way to make me stop. You make me go back and it will be only way to end both our misery. Or maybe I will be the one to snap. Maybe one day you will go to hit me and I will decide enough is enough. A kitchen knife within arm's reach. A hot heavy poker swung at your head. You think it hasn't occurred to me before? When all I can think of is how I want you to stop. For the pain to stop. You think I haven't thought of the ways I could make you stop." Lydia studied Mr. Wickham, head tilted to one side. Mr. Wickham stared back at her in horror. How the tables had turned between them. Now he was the one with the fear in his eyes.

"Lydia," he began carefully.

"Who do you think would snap first, dear husband? Who dies at the hands of the other? And who dies at the end of the rope?"

"Are you threatening me, Lydia?" Wickham had finally recovered his voice and some of his bravado.

"No. Merely making an observation," Lydia replied calmly. Then she broke the effect by gave a snort with laughter, but this time it sounded like sincere amusement. "Oh la! That sounded like something Lizzy would say! All witty and what not."

"Weren't you leaving, Mr. Wickham?" Georgiana copied Fitzwilliam's habit of giving suggestions that were actually veiled orders. She couldn't stop herself from smirking at him. This man flabbergasted by the savagery he himself had instilled in his wife.

Without another word Wickham turned on his heel and stormed off down the path away from them. Both women watched him till he was out of sight and then turned to look at each other with identical gleeful grins on their faces.

"He's gone," Lydia said. "He's really gone!" Then she laughed with joy. All traces of the woman who had been threatening a man with murder a minute previously had gone. Taking her daughter back from Georgiana she spun the girl around, and the girl grumbles and cries were replaced with squeals. Georgiana could not help but join in with their laughter. She felt lighter, free, like she had not realized how much George Wickham had still weighed on her until the fear of him was gone.

They had stood up to him. The two women George Wickham had wronged most of all - they had stood up to him once and for all. Each in their own way. But they had vanquished their demon that hid behind the facade of a charming man.

Georgiana joined Lydia in her spinning, arms out, skirts twirling.

They were free.

It was still in this state of euphoria that Elizabeth found them as they entered the grounds of Netherfield Hall. She pulled her sister into a tight hug, causing a shrill squeal of disapproval from her niece.

"Lydia! Where did you go?"

"I tried to run away again. But, la, Lizzy, it does not matter! I made Mr. Wickham go away! Is that not grand?"

"You? What? Lydia, what happened?"

But just then Mrs. Bennet and Kitty spilled out of the doors to Netherfield Hall, surrounding Lydia, demanding answers, and Georgiana and Elizabeth took a step back.

"We saw Mr. Wickham leave but Mr. Darcy has not graced us with his presence since so we do not know what was said," Kitty was telling her sister. "Is he gone?" And Lydia was off, telling the story of her threat to Mr. Wickham, adding embellishments, but Georgiana paid her words little mind. Kitty's words on her brother had reminded her - what deal had he struck with Mr. Wickham? Georgiana could not believe that he would have broken his promise, yet why else would Mr. Wickham have tried to force Lydia to go with him? Unless Mr. Wickham had lied. That seemed the most likely option.

"I think we should go and speak with your brother." Elizabeth's words reflected Georgiana's thoughts and the pair of them made their way back into Netherfield Hall and up the stairs to Mr. Bingley's study.

Mr. Darcy gave them both a tight smile when they entered. He seemed tired more than anything, as though the conversation with Mr. Wickham had drained him. Elizabeth went immediately to his side, kissing his cheek and taking one of his hands between her own. Her brother gave a more genuine smile at these small signs of affection.

"Is he gone?" he asked them.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied.

"What deal did you strike with him, brother?" Georgiana felt the question she needed answering flutter from her lips. Her voice came out as little more than a whisper, but she had to ask, had to know the answer that was so important to her. She had always trusted her brother, no questions asked. Now she needed to know that he trusted her judgement, too. That he had not ignored her request to put Lydia and her daughter's safety above her own reputation.

"He will not harm either yourself or Lydia again," he told her.

"That does not sound like him," Elizabeth commented.

Mr. Darcy sighed and pulled out a letter from his waistcoat pocket. "Let us say I persuaded him." He passed the letter to Elizabeth, who released his hand to take up the letter and began reading with a frown on her face. Curiosity winning out over etiquette, Georgiana moved to stand beside her sister, and read the letter over her shoulder. She noted her brother made no effort to stop her.

The letter was from her cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and scanning it quickly Georgiana got the gist of it. If Wickham caused trouble again, her cousin suggested he could use his contacts at the War Office to have Wickham moved regiments once more, this time to a regiment intended for immediate action. For war. And quite possibly his death. The choice her brother had given Mr. Wickham was obvious - leave Lydia and Georgiana alone or you will be sent to face the possibility of death on the battlefield.

It was blackmail. There could be no denying that fact. Yet Georgiana could not condemn her brother for it. Not when it had been done to save herself and Lydia.

Elizabeth placed the letter down on the desk and turned to her husband, placing her hand upon his once more.

"There are times when we take actions that we would rather not because there is nothing else that can be done. I can see you are not happy with having to threaten Mr. Wickham but he gave you no other choice, you chose to keep our sisters safe, and that is what you have done today. Focus on that, Fitzwilliam."

Georgiana - feeling as though she was interrupting on a moment that should be private - gave a small smile and said "Thank you, brother," before turning to leave.

As she was leaving she heard her sister say, "If you wish to talk of it later we can but for know shall we turn our minds to happier thoughts? I have been thinking it will be time to go home soon, what do you think?"

"To Longbourn?" her brother queried.

The door open in her hand, Georgiana hesitated a moment to hear her sister's answer.

"No. Much as a love my family, Longbourn is not my home anymore. Pemberley is."

Georgiana shut the door behind her with a smile to match the one she knew would be stretched across her brother's face at that answer.

George Wickham was gone from their lives for good and Elizabeth considered Pemberley her home once more. The ecstatic feeling from earlier overtaking her once more, Georgiana skipped back to her room with a grin.

* * *

**Apologies for how long is has taken for me to post this chapter *insert long list of excuses here***

**I'm not going to make any promises about when the next one will be posted but I do want to say that I have every intention of finishing this story eventually.**

**I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and thank you for sticking with me.**


End file.
